


Mycroft's rewards

by StarNightingle



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Meetings, Kid John, Kid Sherlock, M/M, Teen Mycroft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-11
Updated: 2014-09-09
Packaged: 2018-02-08 10:03:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 22,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1936722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarNightingle/pseuds/StarNightingle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Love, friendship and surviving his brother from hell.</p><p>Mycroft Holmes deserved a medal. A big medal. With the medal should come a large extravagant ceremony. Mycroft assumed his medal would come with some sort of bigger reward. Perhaps his reward would come in the shape of the delightful looking man standing in his usual reading alcove in the library.</p><p>Mystrade fic with little Kid!Sherlock and kid!John,</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft has to deal with all sorts of strange things his brother does for science.

Mycroft Holmes deserved a medal. A big medal. With the medal should come a large extravagant ceremony. There should be cake at his ceremony. And plenty of brandy. His big medal, which would become a feature in his rooms, would read simply: _Survived Sherlock Holmes_.

Ever since Sherlock had been born some ten years ago Mycroft had put up with an assortment of affronts. When he was one his baby brother would vomit on his nicest clothing. When Sherlock turned four he started pulling on Mycroft’s hair. At seven the insult ‘Fatcroft’ had been borne into existence and had held firmly in their loving relationship.

There were countless experiments, on his belongings, his clothing and even, several times, on his person. He had woken up countless times to find Sherlock pulling at his hair, swabbing his mouth and once attempting to procure a sample of his skin. Thankfully he had woken before the scalpel could make its first incision.

Fortunately, or unfortunately depending on your viewpoint of the day, Sherlock had turned his human trial experiments on himself. While this spared Mycroft physical harm he was now subjected to the anxiety that one day his brother would kill himself. They had already had to make several trips to the emergency ward for burns and poisoning.

It was almost enough to turn Mycroft’s hair prematurely gray. His parents had no care for the young boisterous boy they had birthed into this world. Sherlock was a handful; he was never one for social niceties and was inquisitive beyond belief. After the first time Sherlock had embarrassed his parents by announcing that their guest Lord Ryce was in fact sleeping with his house maid they had washed their hands of him.

So it fell on Mycroft, only seven years senior, to watch over Sherlock. And on days like today Mycroft deserved a medal.

‘Sherlock, surely you see the flaws in your plan. I will not take you out to the library today if you continue with this foolishness of yours.’ Mycroft said sharply.

No use. Sherlock turned his world renowned glare on his older brother. It was a look that Mycroft dreaded.

‘It is not a folly Mycroft. My plan has no flaws, it is flaw _less_. You may wish to curb my learning’s in this world, wishing to remain ever the top of the intellectual pyramid, but you shall not succeed. The day shall come when you admit defeat to me.’

‘I would quake in my boots, brother mine, were it not for your unseemly attire proving your point moot.’ Mycroft replied.

‘My attire is paramount in my experiment! You shall not contain me Fatcroft! We shall go to the library, and we shall go now!’

Mycroft only wished he could contain even half of Sherlock. That would never be the case however and now Sherlock was currently standing at the front door, waiting to be escorted, wearing girl’s clothing.

He had on a nice shirt, pink with a kitten on the centre, a pretty denim skirt with lace around the bottom, pink to compliment his shirt and a pair of flat, sparkly, blue shoes. His hair had been arranged into a more controlled version of its usual curly self and (dear heavens) he had the slight tell of blush and lipstick on his face. If you didn’t already know Sherlock he did, in fact, appear to be female.

‘And what, might I ask, is your experiment about? Why must you wear such clothes? Where did you even get them, and I must inquire as to where you learnt to put on makeup?’ Mycroft tried his best not to let some of his exasperation enter his voice.

‘That is no concern of yours, brother. Now, take me to the library, or I shall have to find an alternate means of travel.’

Mycroft was quite certain Sherlock could, somehow, get to the library with or without his help. At least if it were he who escorted his younger brother the damage of the outing might be kept to a minimal. So he resigned himself to travelling with a lady companion for the day, if lady was the correct word.

‘Very well, however, as you are travelling under the guise of that which you are not I must insist on a cover alias.’ Mycroft said with a smile. If he had to do this he would at least find some enjoyment in it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft spots Gregory, who has to be the most beautiful man Mycroft has ever lain eyes on.

Mycroft assumed his medal would come with some sort of bigger reward. Perhaps his reward would come in the shape of the delightful looking man standing in his usual reading alcove in the library.

He stood there in Mycroft’s space looking more wondrous than any other Mycroft had seen. This man could not be human. He had such a beautiful countenance. His form was that of perfection, it appeared toned under those clothes. Those clothes had no right to dress a god, shabby and worn as they were. His face looked gentle, kind, if a little tired. And his hair, oh his hair was the most elegant shade of almost silver blonde, short cropped but shining.

‘Fatcroft! Are you even listening to me?’

Ahh, even the shrill shriek of a disgruntled Sherlock could not break through the sound of prevailing angels that must surely follow around this gorgeous man.

‘Of course I am listening Sherly, dear.’

Sherlock huffed deeply and scowled at Mycroft. He had, at first agreed whole-heartedly that an alias was a wonderful idea, the completion of his disguise. However he soon realised Mycroft was using it to mock him and had decided it was the worst idea ever. Now he vehemently hated the whole notion.

‘I am leaving you now. Do not speak to me for the duration of our stay. I will not have you ruining another good experiment.’

Sherlock turned on his heel and stalked off towards the children’s section. Despite his love for learning and scientific facts he still had a soft spot in his heart for pirate stories. No doubt he would stay reading stories for at least an hour before he started his main quest of gender stereotyping and other books about social constructs of boys and girls. What had sparked this latest obsession Mycroft didn't know, but it was far better than last week’s fixation on decomposition at different humidity levels.

Mycroft looked back over to the section he usually sat in and was glad to see the aesthetically pleasing man still there. Mycroft smiled to himself and walked towards the nearest bookshelf. He perused for all of ten seconds before picking a political book at random and moving towards his normal seat.

The handsome man looked up at Mycroft as he approached and smiled. Oh lord, Mycroft had died. He stuttered in his walking for a second and his breathing caught a bit. He had died and gone to heaven because this gift to the world had looked at him and _smiled_.

He must have had a strange look on his face because the casual smile quickly became concerned and the man looked around them for assistance if it were needed. Oh, the comely stranger was kind, and forward thinking too. Mycroft evened his face and smiled back reassuringly.

‘Hey, you alright? Looked a bit wobbly for a second there mate.’

Oh, his voice. Mycroft was dying again. It was gravely and smooth all at once. Rich; that is the word best used to describe this dear man’s voice. And he had referred to Mycroft in a familiar fashion also. _Mate_. The word suggested some level of comradery.

‘Yes, of course. I am fine. I thank you for asking. Very polite of you to do so.’

‘You’re welcome. It’s ok, really.’

The man turned back to the book he was holding. Unacceptable. Mycroft moved to take his seat. What to do, what to do? He opened his book at random and feigned reading while he built himself a plan of attack.

‘Good book?’ He spoke again!

‘Hmm,’ Mycroft looked at his book quickly, what was he even reading? _The honourable burden of public office English humanists and Tudor politics in the sixteenth century_. That was sure to start a great conversation with the average man, Mycroft thought sarcastically to himself. Should have picked a better book.

‘Looks full on, you studying politics?’

‘No.’ Mycroft answered, ‘Well I mean to say yes. And no. Yes, I am studying politics currently. Though this particular book is one I have enjoyed many times before and is on the lighter side of reading.’

The man was now looking at Mycroft a little sceptically.

‘That is light reading?’ he said, pointing at the admittedly quite large book now resting on Mycroft’s lap. He rose an eyebrow as if to say he thought Mycroft was pulling his leg.

‘Yes, really it is. I have read it a few times before. Though I can see how one with no interest in the subject may find it a little dull.’ Mycroft turned the book over in his hands. It really was an interesting read; he had his own worn copy on his bookshelf at home.

The man chuckled at him warmly. ‘Well, I can tell you must be a smart one.’

They lapsed into silence again. Mycroft could hear their breath on the air. He left his book unopened in his lap, not even pretending to show it any interest.

‘And your book?’ Mycroft asked, gesturing towards the book held limply in one of the man’s hands.

‘Oh, yeah,’ he startled, and blushed a little glancing at the cover. ‘It’s just a stupid crime novel. Nothing so smart as what you’re reading.’

‘On the contrary, I do believe some books which delve into the deep mysteries of ‘who-dun-it’ must have some level of intelligence and intrigue to keep one interested in it for any period of time. That you have picked it up means it must be of some value.’

‘Heh, yea when you say it that way it does sound better than “crap detective story”.’ The man smiled at Mycroft with a look in his eyes of half wonder. ‘I’m Greg, by the way.’

He had a name! Well, of course he had a name. But he had chosen to share his name with Mycroft! Greg. Without doubt short for Gregory; such a strong, masculine name.

‘Mycroft,’ He reached out to shake hands with this Greg, ‘It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Gregory. Might I call you that?’

Gregory chuckled, ‘Yea, that’s fine. Though no one’s called me that since I was five, and that was my grandma.’

He reached out and they shook hands. He had such soft hands, though Mycroft could feel slight calluses on his palm.  His Gregory was a working man no doubt. The build of his arms lent proof to that idea.

‘So you-‘

‘ARGH! FATCROFT!’

The screech of little brothers from hell was definitely the world righting its balance for Mycroft. Being able to talk to and touch, if only momentarily, this Gregory was far too much good in his life. Luckily he would always have Sherlock around to right things. Mycroft stood and smiled apology to his new companion.

‘GREG!’

Mycroft’s heart stood still. The second yell had come from another young boy. Gregory’s face immediately fell and he looked very worried and slightly panicked. Gregory pushed past Mycroft towards the sound of the yell. What had his brother done now?


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft and Greg discover they aren't the only two who have become friends.

Perhaps Mycroft would not be getting a ‘survived Sherlock Holmes’ medal after all. Mycroft wasn’t certain he would survive the next two minutes of Sherlock.

When he arrived to see what his brother’s distressed call was about Gregory was already standing with his head in his hands looking like a man defeated. Surveying the area in front of him almost caused his own decent into surrender.

Sherlock had always had a profound gift of destruction, this however was something he could not have accomplished on his own. There were books all over the floor, many in pieces, some piled up as if to represent walls and barriers. The children’s furniture had also been over turned and used as blockades, Mycroft inferred that the books surrounding them had been used as projectiles.

He must not have left Sherlock alone for more than ten minutes but the damage was catastrophic. This was a war zone. And sitting in the middle of the war zone were two young boys. One, Mycroft’s own curly dark haired brother, glared at the other, blonde and short and presumably here with Gregory.

‘Fatcorft! I would have you explain to this imbecilic boy the inaccuracies of his belief that he is a superior war master than I. As you know I am quite adept in this area and have displayed so on many occasions.’

‘Imbecilic?!’ this apparently greatly offended the other boy. ‘I’m not stupid Sherlock, we both know that my book walls were better and that makes me the war master. Plus, my throws hit more than yours!’

‘Not stupid?’ Sherlock scoffed. ‘I shall remind you that _I_ crafted the slingshot that knocked down your superior walls.’

‘There! You admitted it! My walls were superior!’

‘It hardly matters how well they were constructed if I can still knock them down!’

‘Your walls would barely stand on their own. I’m the war master.’

‘No, I am the war master!’

‘No I-‘

‘Enough!’

Mycroft looked at Gregory with a touch of disappointment. He had been quite enjoying the way this young boy had skilfully engaged Sherlock in what, to all intents and purposes, was a game. His brother was not one to make friends and even at just ten he was alienated from his peers. That he would partake in an entertaining moment of play was a wonder.

Looking at the distress of Gregory however brought him back to the reality. Despite how happy he was that Sherlock was playing, it would be preferable for his play not to be at the cost of local community property, especially at the library they enjoyed visiting each week.

‘What the hell is this?!’ Gregory yelled. This caused the blonde boy to look down at his feet and Sherlock to fix him with one of his best, arms-crossed, glares.

‘If you mind my intrusion Gregory I must apologise on my brother’s behalf. Sherlock this simply will not do. If you despoil the property of this fine establishment then surely they shan’t allow you back again. It would be such a shame for you to be cut off from such a ready source of information.’

‘It is not my problem to deal with. You shall simply force them to let me in or else you will be forced to procure my books at greater cost.’ Sherlock turned his body away and huffed.

Gregory looked a little gobsmacked. He gaped between Sherlock and Mycroft before his eyes settled back on the other little boy. This boy did look appropriately chastened.

‘They won’t really kick us out and make us stop coming, will they Greg?’ his voice trembled.

‘Do not be ridiculous, John.’ Sherlock answered for him, ‘Mycroft will handle the situation, as he must, and we shall be allowed to come back whenever we choose.’

Once again Gregory looked at Sherlock and Mycroft. This time it was more of a wary glance.

‘Mycroft, assure John that we shall not be kept from this somewhat useless library. It should be grateful that great war masters like us even grace its halls.’

‘No,’ Greg said quickly, ‘John this was very bad of you. I can’t believe you did this. What happened to our new start, huh?’

However much Gregory seemed distressed by this situation it just kept getting more and more delightful to Mycroft. His brother, Sherlock Holmes, had just included this John boy in his greatness. It was the highest compliment he had ever heard leave Sherlock’s lips. But now it was looking like Gregory and John would walk out of the library and out of their lives for good. Mycroft could not allow that.

‘Gregory,’ Mycroft urged, ‘Please. My brother does not understand the seriousness of his actions. I understand the need for punishment. However to stop them from visiting such a rich place of learning is a mistake. I shall speak to the owner of this place and arrange for them to work off their damage. Then they shall be able to come back as they like.’

Sherlock let out a screech of protest. John on the other hand seemed significantly cheered by the news. He jumped up and down, smiling at Gregory.

‘Yes! Yes, Sherlock and I will clean up all our mess and do anything the nice people want us to. We can fix the mess and then we can come back all the time.’

At that moment one of the nice people John mentioned walked near them. On seeing the state of the children’s section she let out a small shriek.

Mycroft was quick to pull her to the side and negotiate a suitable punishment for the boys as well as reimbursement for all of the books that had fallen in the line of duty. It took less than five minutes for everything to be agreed upon and Mycroft left the conversation feeling rather pleased with his ability to get the best deal for the boys.

He returned to see that Gregory had pulled John closer to himself and was talking under his breath to him. No doubt scolding him yet again for the mess. Sherlock was looking over at John wistfully, as though wishing he had all of his attention again. Though as soon as he saw Mycroft approach he straightened and scowled once more.

‘You shall both be expected to come here for an hour each day after school for the whole of one month. And believe me when I say that is preferable to what was first suggested.’ He added after Sherlock’s initial outroar. ‘Now both of you are to start tidying this area now. Gregory and I shall give you some time for your task. This area is to appear good as new.’

‘This area was never “good as new”.’ Sherlock complained. ‘That we must slave away at this task is both beneath me and completely laughable.’

‘No it isn’t Locks. Come on, let’s get started. I bet I’m a better cleaner than you are.’ John said cheekily before racing away from Gregory to start collecting fallen books.

‘That you would be a better cleaner than me is no surprise, as it is a profession more suited to your social stature.’ Sherlock replied, even as he began rushing about picking up tables and chairs.

Mycroft chuckled to himself softly, never letting Sherlock see his pleasure. He turned to Gregory, who seemed cautious at best, and gestured that they sit on a few chairs nearby.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft spends the evening watching over the newly befriended boys.

Mycroft thought that perhaps his ‘Surviving Sherlock Holmes’ medal should be passed on to a more deserving competitor. In particular it should go to John Watson. The boy was just shy of hitting puberty and yet he had Sherlock worked out in a way that Mycroft had never imagined.

The rest of the afternoon at the library had been uneventful. Gregory had sat in a brooding silence, only speaking again once to inquire about Sherlock strange attire. Mycroft tried to start up fresh conversation but each time was met with simply a sharp nod or one worded answers.

John and Sherlock had cleaned the space, all broken books were bought to the front desk where Mycroft paid for them to be replaced and the two had parted ways with John bouncing happily saying he looked forwards to Monday and Sherlock sulking and insulting Mycroft’s intelligence.

As Mycroft and Sherlock often visited the library on a Friday a whole weekend had to pass before they would return to the library for Sherlock’s enforced punishment. Though the boy said he had nothing but disdain for John it was obvious he was looking forwards to seeing him again. He would start talking about John at random and abruptly stop when he realised what he was doing. Mycroft simply smiled and pretended not to notice.

It was easy to pretend not to notice when Mycroft himself was pining after Gregory. He was worried, of course, by Gregory’s silence at the end of the library excursion. It had been going so well before Sherlock had interrupted.

Today was Monday though and Mycroft had to sweep worry under the rug. First on his agenda was seeing that Sherlock was delivered to school. They used to have a driver take the little devil child but after an unfortunate incident in which Sherlock had tricked the man to drop him off at a swamp land instead of his school gates Mycroft had taken the task upon himself.

Once Sherlock was safely deposited at school, and Mycroft had made sure he passed through the main doors, Mycroft drove to his place of work. He was currently interning at the Department of Traffic and had been for the past month. It was a good place to start his father insisted, no matter how dull Mycroft found the work.

After 6 hours of getting coffee, taking notes, filing papers and negotiating the new traffic system in central London Mycroft was back out the front of Sherlock’s school ready to pick him up. Once again he trusted no one to collect his little, hell spawn, brother.

‘Fatcroft, you really should stop eating so much cake for lunch.’

‘Hello to you too, Sherlock. I expect you had a fruitful day of study at school.’

‘Ha! Like that place could ever give me anything fruitful, unless you include boredom. No, another day wasted in that laughable institution. Take me home so this day might not be deemed a complete waste.’

‘Sherlock, are you forgetting your assignment at the library?’

Sherlock grunted and crossed his arms but Mycroft caught the slight glimmer in his eye. He stood for a moment displaying his displeasure then threw his bag into Mycroft’s car and slunk into the front seat.

They drove to the library in silence. Sherlock sulked in his seat and Mycroft played through all the possible scenarios in his head of how he could get Gregory to talk to him. Perhaps he could start with an apology for Sherlock’s behaviour. Maybe simply an inquiry as to how his day had been.

Either way he wouldn’t need to decide right now. Sherlock and Mycroft arrived to the library to see that Gregory and John had yet to arrive. Sherlock was put to work with a stack of books in need of returning to their proper places and Mycroft, after a moment of consideration, took a seat with a tactical view over most of the library for supervision.

John arrived some ten minutes later, during which Sherlock had put one book away and proceeded to scoff at the information in a children’s science book. Sherlock bounded up from his spot on the floor, hidden from the front desk by a bookshelf, and raced to John’s side. Mycroft craned his neck and tried his best to get a view of Gregory behind John but the man simply did not appear.

‘You’re late!’ Sherlock proclaimed, ‘I have been slaving away for ages and ages, doing the work of simple plebeians, while you slowly wandered here.’

‘I’m really sorry Sherlock, Mycroft, but I had to catch a bus and then it took a while to walk from the stop.’ John looked at his feet guiltily. After seeing the stance yesterday Mycroft was less sure it was due to actual guilt and more a defensive position used to manipulate others into forgiveness.

‘It is quite alright John. You caught the bus did you say? Did Gregory not bring you today?’

‘Nah, Greg’s working today. Said he’d pick me up tonight after he’s finished though. And catching the bus is right fun, you get to look at all the other people and guess where they’re going.’

Mycroft had all of a second to dwell on this fact before John was being pulled away from Mycroft by persistent little gremlin hands towards the books Sherlock was supposed to be putting away. Sherlock was muttering under his breath about how hopeless John would be at deducing people, it being a game Sherlock and Mycroft had rather perfected.

Mycroft resumed his seat and watched the boys as they worked, he noticed with some pleasure that John was prompting Sherlock to help, even if John still did the lion’s share of the work. He made a game of stacking the books in even piles and seeing who could put theirs away faster.

Mycroft caught snatches of conversation between the boys. Sherlock was ranting about one experiment or the other while John enthusiastically regaled Sherlock with tales of his old school and his new one.

Despite the fact that Sherlock was rude and abrasive John seemed to look at him in wonder and praised him endlessly, which made Sherlock preen and gloat. And despite the fact that John was telling average stories about his life and making Sherlock work Sherlock clung to his every word and insulted John less than he normally would.

Mycroft pondered on what it was exactly that made John stand out from the others. Perhaps it was simply that John hadn’t come to the conclusion that Sherlock was a ‘freak’ upon first meeting him, John had given Sherlock a chance to display a side of himself that was so often ignored by everyone else.

By time forty-five minutes had passed the job for the day was done. The librarian on duty smiled at the boys and told them that because they had worked so hard they could have the last fifteen minutes to themselves.

The boys came up to Mycroft slowly, nudging each other and chatting away happily. When they reached Mycroft’s chair they fell silent. John looked as though he were studying Mycroft very closely. It didn’t take much for Mycroft to guess that Sherlock had been displaying his unique ability of seeing people to John, and John was trying it out now.

‘You work at an important job, where you write lots of notes on paper.’ John said as he drew his conclusions, looking at Mycroft’s suit and the ink stains on his inner palm.

John looked at Sherlock happily, seeking approval and Sherlock rolled his eyes. His whole demeanour said ‘obviously’ without him even needing to open his mouth.

‘I’m right aren’t I?’ John continued, bouncing on his toes, ‘Sherlock is teaching me how to see things about people-‘

‘Deduce.’

‘Yea, that, deduce. It’s pretty tricky but Sherlock makes it seem so easy. Maybe one day I’ll be good at it like him.’

‘Doubtful.’ Sherlock said, though he did seem pleased and straightened himself slightly. Sherlock had always been tall for his age, taller than the other children in his class, no doubt, but he had to straighten up all the way to reach John’s height, the boy had a few years on him.

‘Sherlock, please.’ Mycroft sent a stern look at Sherlock and then turned to John with a smile. ‘You are quite right John. I work for the government which is very important’ Sherlock snorted. ‘And I do take a lot of notes for people.’

John positively beamed at Mycroft. Sherlock grabbed his arm and pulled him towards a section of books marked ‘biology’ with a mutter about proving to John that the brain itself could not feel pain.

Gregory arrived five minutes after the allotted time had finished. He looked spectacular, as he had he previous day, if a touch haggard. His eyes had bags under them and his hair was in disarray. Mycroft’s fingers itched to reach out and straighten it. He refrained from doing so though, it was not strictly acceptable in most social circles.

John jumped up from where he was sitting and raced over to Greg, planning to pull him back towards the small group. Greg however had different ideas and knelt to quickly tell John something. Whatever it was got John quite excited and he was bouncing on his toes all over again. He ran back to Sherlock and Mycroft while Greg stood and watched from the door.

‘Greg says me and him are gonna go get ice cream! Can you imagine that? Ice cream before dinner!’ John was once again beaming. ‘Greg says I need to say thanks for watching me.’

‘You are quite welcome John. Ice cream befor dinner is quite an exciting prospect. Sherlock and I shall see you here tomorrow.’

John bounced over to Sherlock and reached as if to hug him before realising that wasn’t the best idea from the warning glare sent his way. Instead he rested his hands on Sherlock’s shoulders. ‘See ya tomorrow Locks. I’ll try out my new deducting skill on the kids at school and tell you all about it.’

‘Deducing, John, not deducting. I suspect all your attempts without my presence will be futile but it pleases me to see you trying to better yourself on your own. Until tomorrow.’

John dropped his arms and raced back to Greg who smiled over at the Holmes brothers but didn’t say a word or lift a hand in greeting. This was not how it was meant to be. What if Gregory did this every day?

How was Mycroft to ever persuade him to perhaps spend a little more time with him as, say, a date?


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John arrives to the library feeling down and Mycroft wonders if Gregory shall be redeemed for this.

Mycroft was sure that Gregory Lestrade, as he had come to find out, was not a reward at all. Gregory Lestrade was a punishment. Had Mycroft not done the best he could with Sherlock? Why did the world deem to make his life that much harder.

Work on Tuesday had gone by rather quickly. The day was busy and so the time Mycroft had to think about certain silver haired gods was very limited. The head of traffic had changed Mycroft’s position that morning. He was to now follow around a short tempered man called Tanning who shouted and yelled at everything from the coffee pot to the computer to Mycroft himself.

He spent the day hurrying around collecting things, making notes and delivering files for Mr. Tanning. He barely had a moment of rest before he was excusing himself for the day to pick up Sherlock. Tanning had not been happy about that. He had yelled some more about how Mycroft clearly wasn’t right for the job and was forsaking his responsibilities and ‘Wasn’t that what spoiled rich prats had drivers for?’.

None the less Mycroft was out door and in front of Sherlock’s school in time for his little brother to walk briskly over to his car.

‘Your new boss is terrible. I would tell you to talk to father about a transfer, but we both know how useless and stupid that man is.’

‘Yes Sherlock, you are right on all counts. Are you ready to go to the library?’

Sherlock was indeed ready to go to the library. He even, if you looked very closely, seemed to be smiling. Or perhaps that was Mycroft’s mind playing tricks on him.

This time the trip to the library was not silent. Sherlock talked the whole way there, chatting about what he had learnt today in biology that would impress John, who wanted to be a doctor when he grew up, and what he planned to teach John about deducing today.

It was one of the best moments with his brother that Mycroft could remember and he tried to imprint it firmly in his mind.

Once again John and Greg were nowhere to be seen when the brothers arrived. Mycroft pulled out a parcel of files he had taken from the office to appease Tanning and Sherlock pulled out his scientific notepad to scribble away in.

John arrived, once again, ten minutes after Sherlock and Mycroft had. He mustn’t have gone to school very far away, the trip only took Mycroft twenty minutes via car from Sherlock’s big imposing school and John caught the bus he had said.

Sherlock noticed John almost immediately and bound up to him. Mycroft was sure he would need to book his brother in to see a psychiatrist because the behaviour was so uncharacteristic that the only explanation was that there was something wrong with him.

Just as there, clearly, was something wrong with John. When Sherlock bounded over to him and started chatting animatedly John did not look at him and smile, john did not start bouncing on his toes. John stepped back and looked the other way.

Sherlock froze. He took a step towards John and moved around him so he was once again in John’s line of sight. Mycroft had a sinking feeling deep in his stomach that this wasn’t about to go well. Sherlock had little appreciation for the feelings of others.

Mycroft stood and moved over to where the boys were, near the entrance of the library.

‘John, stop this ridiculousness. I am trying to speak and it is highly rude to look away from someone when they are speaking to you.’ Sherlock said sternly.

‘Sherlock, brother dear: Look at John, deduce his emotions and take a moment to consider that he is human, not simply a receptor to your knowledge.’

Sherlock stopped speaking and looked at John closely. John under the scrutiny closed off his body and stepped back again. Sherlock followed him once more before realisation seemed to dawn in his eyes. He took a large step back and turned to face away from John slightly, giving him space. Mycroft was very pleased with his little brother’s actions. Until of course he opened his mouth.

‘This mood is ridiculous. I do not see why you should be upset, you have come to see me and work in a laborious task, which you seem fond of. You should stop it immediately so that we might discuss more important things.’

Mycroft balked for a second before grabbing hold of Sherlock’s shoulder, spinning him round and shoving him towards the front desk where the librarian in charge today was waiting for her small workers. He stumbled gracefully for a step before glaring at Mycroft. He seemed to get the point though and walked away with a retort of a head start on his pile of books.

‘John.’ Mycroft said softly, kneeling to the boy’s eye height. ‘What has you troubled so today?’

John glanced up at Mycroft and the elder Holmes saw John’s lip wobble. John hitched in a great breath and let it out again quite slowly in a catching pattern. Mycroft reached out a hand and placed it on John’s shoulder, attempting to comfort. Sherlock had never been one to cry, unless it was to trick others to give him his way. What did one do with a crying child?

‘It is quite alright John. You are quite alright. Why do you not tell me what has you bothered. I shall see what I can do to right the situation.’

John’s breaths became actual sobs at this and Mycroft decided he would have to read a book about this immediately if he hoped for his brother to continue association with such an emotionally driven child.

‘Gre- _sob_ \- Greg said – _sniff_ \- Greg told me that I wasn’t allowed to- to-’ John dissolved into tears.

Mycroft pulled John into a quick embrace and glanced around to send daggers at anyone looking reproachfully at John and himself.

‘It is quite alright John. Whatever it was I’m sure Gregory wouldn’t have advised you against it if it were not-‘

‘Greg said I can’t talk to Sherlock anymore!’

Oh. Oh! _Oh_. Mycroft glanced around to make sure that Sherlock was nowhere near hearing distance. Sherlock adored John, even though he had met the boy less than a week ago the affect John had had on Sherlock was astounding. Hearing this news would devastate Sherlock, just as it seemed to be devastating John.

This was unbelievable. This was outrageous. How dare this man. No matter how gorgeous he appeared. How dare this man tear away from Sherlock the one good thing he had. And he had only had it for such a short time. No. This was unacceptable. This would not do!

Mycroft took a moment to compose himself, sure that his emotions had flashed across his face and hoped desperately that John had not gleaned enough of Sherlock’s skills to be able to tell exactly what each one had been.

‘John I need you to try and calm yourself. You will go and collect your pile of books and continue on with your work for the day. I shall talk to Sherlock about being quiet for the day, but… is Gregory picking you up today?’ John nodded sadly, ‘Well then, when he arrives I shall have a word with him.’

John seemed to brighten, if only slightly.

‘You made the library not kick us out forever. Maybe you can get Greg to let me be Sherlock’s friend.’

John walked over to where his pile of books was waiting and started to slowly put them away, at half the speed he had the previous day. Sherlock was about to start speaking to him again when he noticed Mycroft beckon him over and with a scowl walked to his older brother.

‘What is it Fatcroft? Was John so horrified by the sight of your enormous ugliness that he could not bear the depression pushing him down?’

‘Sherlock, as I am sure you have noticed John is feeling slightly under the weather today. It would be best for John if you were to let him have some measure of peace today. Refrain from talking to him when you can and when you must speak do so concisely. Consider it a challenge for the day.’

Sherlock’s shoulders squared and Mycroft had to wonder why he had never thought to appeal to his brother’s competitive side before. John had obviously seen it straight away but Mycroft had always been one to try reason with his brother. Obviously appealing to his ego was the more successful route and he had no doubt that Sherlock would utter no more than ten words to John for the entirety of the hour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry I fix it, just figuring out the finer points of how. :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg and Mycroft try to deal with the aftermath of their boys torn apart and we find out why Greg made the 'No Sherlock' rule.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was doing so well with keeping this updated fast and I'm sorry this took me a while. You really don't care for excuses I know but I have this intensive arts course I'm doing for Uni and also (get excited on my behalf) my boyfriend took me away on a surprise trip to a castle and proposed to me. Ahh, so good!
> 
> So, I'm sorry for the delay, even if i have good reason, and without further delay here you are :)

The medal would be big. Mycroft had already decided that. Perhaps ‘Survived Sherlock’ was not broad enough of a term for his engraving. ‘Survived Humanity’ might be more appropriate. Or perhaps even it would be big enough that he could have engraved on it every name of every person who tried to tear him down bit by bit.

While Sherlock would feature prominently so would Gregory Lestrade. Last night the hour had gone much more slowly for the children working away. Neither boy had the enthusiasm for the task they had shared the day before. John spent the time holding back a sob and sniffing while Sherlock spent the time staring at John as though he could fix everything by sheer force of will alone.

They had not finished the stack of books assigned to them that day by time there hour was up. They continued to work on though as Mycroft was surely not leaving the library today without speaking to Lestrade and Sherlock and John had nothing better to do than continue.

When Lestrade had finally arrived Mycroft had pounced up and strode over to him. Lestrade took one look at the monstrous look on Mycroft’s face and seemed to falter slightly in his step.

‘John, come on were leaving.’

‘I think not so quickly. I would like to have a word with you for a moment.’ Mycroft had said, trying to back Lestrade into the library and away from the doors.

Lestrade had simply said now wasn’t the time and when John walked up to the pair had grabbed the boys hand roughly and rushed out. Mycroft had half a mind to stop him with brute force except for as he stepped forwards Sherlock’s hand had snaked into his.

‘I don’t think John likes me.’ He said and he didn’t look sad, he didn’t look resigned, he looked as though he were simply reciting facts off of some work sheet, but his voice wobbled ever so slightly and Mycroft decided that where he needed to be right now was with Sherlock.

That had been a mistake. As soon as Mycroft had turned his attention to Sherlock, displayed some sort of emotional ability, Sherlock had hardened. He was like stone, like steel.

‘It hardly matters to me and you shouldn’t think I care one second what that lower class slave boy thinks of me. Really you are the most imbecilic elephant in the world if you thought for one moment it would disturb me.’ He turned, retrieved his things and marched towards the exit.

He had proceeded to spend the evening destroying several pieces of furniture, breaking all the china cups and harassing one of the maids into a state of absolute distress; to the point she had fled the house and Mycroft doubted they would ever see her again.

And Mycroft could tell that Sherlock was simply getting started.

~~~

Greg needed a medal for world’s worst guardian. He felt like shit watching John mope around at home. The kid was having no luck making friends at school and, well, Greg had kind of told him to stay away from the one other kid who had deemed young John worth his time.

The teachers at John’s school called him quiet and withdrawn. They said he had trouble making new friends because he had trouble opening up to new people. And Greg was just giving him another reason to stay in his shell by discouraging the one friendship John had somehow managed to make.

John wasn’t Greg’s brother exactly. John was a foster kid his parents had taken in five years ago and never gotten rid of. It had been a somewhat happy life. John had never been easy to get along with others, he always had some issue with abandonment because of his rotten parents, but Greg had thought he was getting better. He had one or two close friends and the rest of his class found him agreeable.

Then, about a year years ago, tragedy had struck the Lestrade household and Greg’s dad had died. It had sucked for Greg, really it had, but John hadn’t taken it any better. The poor kid had lost yet another parent and had been inconsolable. Greg’s mum, a week after the funeral and dealing with both her own grief and that of the two boys had come to a devastating conclusion; on her own she could not hope to support the two boys as they were living.

So they had moved. Away from the places they knew, away from the people they knew. Greg had gotten a job working at a shop. He applied at several other places as he worked and somehow lucked out and was recruited by the local police force just a month later, a job he had always wanted. He had thought life was looking up.

John was too far gone though. He didn’t speak to people at school. He completed his work with high competence but spent his spare time reading books about doctors or playing with puzzles instead of interacting with the other kids. Greg’s mum had been contacted by the school but she was busy with her own work and the responsibility of John had fallen to Greg.

So, trying his best to be all John needed, Greg had begun taking John to the library after school every Thursday to get new books to read. He figured he might as well let the kid read. He knew it didn’t help John socialise but the books helped John relax at night. They had missed the last Thursday though, Greg had to work late, and John had gotten a real bad nightmare that night. That’s why they had ended up at the library last Friday.

That’s where John met Sherlock. And Greg himself had met the bloody prince of good looking. The prince was named Mycroft. Mycroft was perfection. He dressed so damn well for a bloke just visiting the library with his kid brother (who was dressed like a girl?) and his hair was the most perfect mix of brown red, sculpted just so, not a strand out of place.

Mycroft was the kind of guy you saw in movies or on telly who lived in the big mansion houses. Not just that but he was smart. Reading a book on politics, that Greg would need a degree to get past the first page, like it was an old favourite.

Greg had felt like the luckiest guy out when they had started talking. He hadn’t even minded the little squirt Sherlock at first. Yea he and John had gotten into a boat load of trouble, which had made Greg a bit broody he’d admit, but they’d had fun doing it and it was the first time Greg had seen John connect since they had moved.

But then the tyke had come home and said one of those lines you don’t quite expect to come from a kid’s mouth. _I don’t mind that I’m not smart; Sherlock says I’ll make a great assistant for his experiments_. Greg had seen red. Not smart? John was one of the smartest kids in his year. A great assistant? John was gonna be a damn doctor!

He had asked John what made him think that, what Sherlock was saying and what the two were doing and had not been pleased with the answers. If that was the way the little git was going to treat John then Greg would make sure John stayed away from him.

Now, as he watched John slowly get ready for his day Greg was of full of regret. For a moment John had been a bouncy, happy, normal twelve year old. He had chatted enthusiastically and had started doing some weird thing where he would guess what people did for their jobs when he passed them in the street.

Now John dragged his feet, his eyes were red and there was a slouch in his shoulders. Greg sighed deeply. He’d have to rethink this whole Sherlock business. Mycroft had seemed livid with him when he picked John up from the library yesterday evening and even the little devil child had been downcast and looking at John in a curious, Greg might even say worried,  manner.

Yes Greg would definitely have to talk to Mycroft about this. Maybe over a coffee if Greg was lucky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I didn't resolve the problem. I had finished the problem but I didn't like how it flowed so decided to give Greg a section and that just made it sooo long.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft is shaken by an experience at work and finds out Gregory is a junior officer with the police.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No more setting deadlines for myself, all I do is break them. This last week has been hectic as, sorry :L

The list on Mycroft’s medal would not be limited to Sherlock and Gregory though. No that would be confining one’s self to personal matters. Mycroft gladly added Tanning to that list also. The man seemed close enough to an emotional break today that Mycroft did his best to stay out of the man’s way.

Around two in the afternoon he stopped for a moment to enjoy a sip of his tea. A quiet moment, all work done for just one second, a respite. He would need to leave soon and face Sherlock, he needed this break.   

Tanning had found him. Tanning had not been happy. Tanning had a weapon.

Mycroft instinctively recoiled and shouted out. The office went mad when they saw the gun in Tanning’s hand. Some ran for the doors, others ducked to the ground and screamed. Mycroft stood, frozen in absolute horror. And thing of all things he felt a bubble of laughter rise in his chest.

‘You think this is funny!’ yelled Tanning. ‘You think it’s funny because your daddy has always gotten you exactly what you wanted in life?! You think you’re too good? Well, guess what! I don’t give a damn who you are. And you’ll do well to stop thinking your family will protect you.’

Mycroft gulped slightly and looked to the floor when he was motioned to. Tanning moved away from him slightly. Not enough. He motioned for all the people who remained in the room to walk over to the partitioned office space Mycroft was occupying and crowd in with him.

It really was a small office, there wasn’t much elbow room with ten in the space. Mycroft was shunted to the back of the group by older men. Men who wanted to protect the youngest member of their group.

‘No!’ Tanning yelled. ‘No. The boy stays front and centre!’

‘He’s just a boy-‘ one of the men near the front started. He didn’t get more than that out before he was shot. Mycroft could see that the man had only been shot in the leg, nothing fatal, yet. Not even badly damaging, it was most definitely a flesh wound. The bubble of laughter came up again and he squashed it down and moved forwards in the group.

‘What’s so funny?’ asked Tanning. ‘Do you think that’s funny?!’

‘No.’ answered Mycroft shortly, lowering his gaze. Best to appear submissive in this situation.

‘What then!’

‘My brother, sir. I simply thought of my brother.’

It was the truth. In his moment of madness Mycroft had pictured a small Sherlock standing to the side of the scene critiquing the armed man’s skill. _Your posture is wrong. You’re holding the gun wrong. You’re aiming is wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. What kind of criminal are you?_

‘Yea? Well don’t!’ and then Tanning was ranting about ‘rich pricks’ like Mycroft and the amount of work he had to do to get his measly poor paying position and how he slaved at his job while they trained his replacement.

Five minutes later he was interrupted by armed forces. London’s great police force, Mycroft was never so pleased to see them in his life, though he supposed other than now he only ever saw then when Sherlock had blown something up which was never good.

After another minute of negotiation Tanning had been taken into custody. All in all the experience had shaken Mycroft but left him feeling rather unimpressed and underwhelmed. His first experience with a gun and then man had barely put up a fight when confronted.

Mycroft was shuffled into a space with a paramedic where he was told an officer would come to take his statement. A blanket was placed around his shoulders and he was given a cup of warm tea. He had been drinking tea when it had all started; he looked down at the mug distastefully.

Mycroft was significantly enough shaken, though he would never admit to it, that when an officer did come it took a moment to register the surprised little _‘Mycroft?’_ that came with him. When he did look up to see who had called his name he was startled to find himself face to face with Lestrade.

This was precisely what he did not need at this moment. He was feeling vulnerable, shaken and had spent the night before imagining the many ways in which he could cajole Gregory into taking the restrictions off of John, many scenarios ending in passionate kisses. Damn his brain to hell. Mycroft took a deep sip of his tea, which was cold, oh wonderful.

‘Lestrade. Officer Lestrade, as it were. You shall have to pardon my bluntness but if you would kindly send over, to get my statement, anyone who is not yourself. I do not believe I quite have the spirit today for the conversation I wish to have with you.’

Lestrade hung his head and shuffled on his feet. ‘Sorry Myc, you’re stuck with me. Just shows how finely spread we are that the main witness is being questioned by the newbie, but it’s all we got right now.’

Mycroft heaved a sigh, ‘Very well.’

‘It would help if you started at the beginning of the day. Did you notice anything off about him, that sorta thing? Then just tell me what happened, I’ll write it all down, and we can both be on our separate ways.’

‘No. No, I do believe my first assessment was correct. Anyone else. Anyone.’ Mycroft closed his eyes and hoped that when he opened them Greg would have gone to fetch someone else. No luck.

‘This is about your brother isn’t it?’

‘About my brother?’ Mycroft sighed deeply, might as well, he had enough trouble cornering Lestrade at the library. ‘You mean the devil spawn who runs through the house. The lone wolf whose twin passions are destruction and my own misery. The boy who, before last Friday, had never made any effort at all to connect with anyone. Yes, I suppose you could say this is about my brother.’

‘Shit Myc, I-‘

‘Mycroft, or Mr Holmes, if you please.’

‘Mycroft.  I’m sorry okay. I didn’t realise all that about the little tyke. John’s had it tough these last few months. That kid brother of yours was making a bad impression on him. It was no good. If I’d realised he was just trying to socialise…’

Lestrade drifted off for a moment. Mycroft stared into his hatefully cold tea.

‘Listen. Myc- sorry; Mycroft- I just want what’s best for John. And right now… Sherlock insults the kid with every breath. And then he comes home with his mind full of all this shit about being no good at anything other than being this kid’s slave?’

‘Sherlock has insulted young John less than half as often as he has insulted anyone else he has come across. He even pays him the odd compliment, which I had never seen done before.’ Mycroft took a breath. He couldn’t really combat the second point, Sherlock had a terrible habit of treating everyone, including Mycroft himself, as a slave.

 ‘Sherlock needs a friend, someone to guide him. John seems up to the job. I fail to see why they should not continue with their association, John may even teach my brother a thing or two.’

‘Fine. Ok. Fine. They can keep being friends. If you can call it that. But I’m gonna talk to someone; see if I can’t get my shifts re-arranged. I’m gonna be there the whole time, watching them. And if I think it’s no good. Then it’s no good.’

Mycroft perked up slightly. It would have been a lie to say he did not still find the prospect of spending time with Gregory appealing, despite this short interval of unpleasantness. If he insisted on being at the library after school Mycroft would hardly complain.

‘Your terms are agreeable. And I may see what influence my contacts in the force have, perhaps I can see it arranged that you have that time off.’

‘Heh, contacts hey? No, I’ll get it handled. I’ve seen you talk down a mad librarian whose seen half her library in tatters. But this is my problem, and I’ll handle it.’

Mycroft nodded shortly. Truth be told him contacts in the force may not listen to him in the first place so it probably was best Gregory do this himself.

‘Now, your statement.’ Gregory held up his notepad once more.

 

 

Well, that settled that didn’t it. John and Sherlock would be friends again, Greg would be back in John’s good book and to hell if Mycroft hadn’t seemed to perk up slightly when Greg said he’d be at the library every day from now on.

He, Greg Lestrade, had made this stunning guy, in his three-piece suit, smile just slightly. Now Greg just needed to find someone to talk to and hope they had a sympathetic ear when it came to his protective streak over the kid.

Mycroft had had quite the fright today and Greg could tell he was putting on a good façade, that stiff upper lip, while giving his statement. Did Mycroft even believe himself that he was fine after all that? Greg thought he might. Asking him out for coffee would be the polite thing to do.  

‘Ok, that’s all I need. Thanks for that.’ Greg lifted his notepad in signal. His tongue twisted around the words ‘would you’ and ‘like coffee’ and he couldn’t quite get his throat to let air come out.

‘Yes,’ replied Mycroft, ‘Had to be done.’

He took another sip of his, what Greg reckoned had to be dead cold, tea and grimaced. _Come on Greg, pretend like you’re not chicken shit for just one minute. Ask this gorgeous bloke out for a drink._

‘Well. Yea. Uhh.’ Greg stumbled around his words and mentally kicked himself. He’d asked out plenty of birds before, so this was a bit different, it being a bloke and all. It being a smart, posh dressed, good looking, well spoken bloke.

Mycroft took another sip of his tea, more as something to do while Greg stumbled than actual desire to drink the damned stuff.

‘Wouldyouliketogetcoffeewithme.’ Greg stumbled.

‘Excuse me?’ Mycroft said, lowering his mug and looking at Greg as if he had grown another head. To be fair he looked as though he thought the new head was good looking at least.

‘Coffee. With me. Would you like to?’

Mycroft physically brightened. He smiled and straightened his shoulders. Greg couldn’t help but smile back at him. Then Mycorft glanced at his wrist watch and his body went rigid.

‘It’s half past three.’ He said, panic in his voice.

‘Yeah. I suppose it is. Why’s that?’

‘It’s half past three.’ This time he looked up and Greg could see the look on his face and recognised it from the many mums he’d seen at the shops who’d lost their kid.

‘I have to go.’ He said shortly, ‘Sherlock’s school let out twenty minutes ago.’

‘Right. Well, you go collect the kid and I’ll meet you at the library then.’ Greg said in what the hoped was a somewhat soothing tone. Mycroft barely seemed to hear him though as instead raced off into the crowd and quickly disappeared from sight.

Greg shook his head. How did a kid raised by someone who obviously cared about them so much turn out as bratty as Sherlock?


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft arrives late to pick up Sherlock and Greg talks to John about a trial for him and Sherlock.

Mycroft rescinded his claim to any sort of medal when it came to his care of the poor, ruffled, sniffling boy he found when he arrived at the school to pick up Sherlock. Twenty minutes! He had only been twenty minutes late. How had his brother been transformed in that time?

 ‘Sherlock what on earth happened?’

Mycroft knelt in front of him, sitting at the steps to the entrance of the school. Sherlock turned his iciest, hardest glare on his big brother and winced slightly as it pulled at a cut on his brow. His hair was in disarray and his jacket looked dusty, his book bag was ripped slightly and in his hands was his scientific notebook, looking like it had been torn to pieces and hurriedly picked up by its loving owner.

‘Sherlock, what happened?’ asked Mycroft again with a little more force.

No answer was forth coming however and a quick glance around showed that no one remained around to discuss the matter with. Surely someone had seen what happened and thought Mycroft ought to know.

‘They called mummy.’ Sherlock said coldly, reading Mycroft’s thoughts.

Mycroft’s blood turned to ice as he considered that. His mother would not be pleased at being bothered. Especially not over Sherlock. Mycroft would need to be blind to not notice that her disdain of the young boy had been growing, and surely Sherlock noticed as well.

‘Yes, well. Nothing we can do about that. I shall handle her Sherlock.’

‘As you should. It is your job to deal with that heinous woman.’

Despite his words the straight line of Sherlock’s shoulders relaxed ever so slightly. Mycroft was pleased to know he could offer that much comfort to his little brother. He was useful for that much at least, if not from stopping the blow which had broken the skin above Sherlock’s eye.

He turned on his heel and strode back over to where he had pulled up the car. Sherlock quickly stood and placed his hand in Mycroft’s. Not making the mistake of acknowledging it openly, as he had the other day with John, Mycroft simply squeezed it once and kept his eyes forwards.

He was so shocked by what was now the second display of affection from the impenetrable fortress that was Sherlock that when they were in the car, driving away from the school, he automatically turned the car towards home.

‘You have turned the wrong way Fatcroft.’ Sherlock remarked after a moment. When Mycroft didn’t seem to understand he added with a put upon sigh, ‘We are due at the library. In fact we were due at the library some time ago, though I am sure we have not been missed sorely.’

‘Of course, Sherlock.’ Mycroft turned the car around swiftly and started back to the library. Once again the car fell into its silence. He had been face to face with a crazed, armed man today and yet he could swear his fear at facing his mother was twice as strong.

‘Will we have been missed?’

‘No, everything shall be fine Sherlock, I am sure people shall be understanding of our tardiness.’

Sherlock shrank in his seat. Mycroft almost smacked himself for his idiocy. Of course his brother hadn’t been worried about the people at the library missing the Holmes brothers for the work they needed to do. Sherlock had been worried that they would, in fact, not be missed at all.

‘What I mean to say is they shall not be angered by our being late. John shall be glad to see you Sherlock.’

‘He did not seem so glad yesterday.’

‘Yesterday things were different Sherlock. Surely you could tell John was distressed. I am certain that today John shall be back to his joyous self.’

‘I believe I may have been the cause of John’s distress. He appeared saddened by my company. It is not strange for people to dislike my presence, however they are rarely upset by it.’

Mycroft worried away at his forehead with a hand. He was glad he had the chance to speak with Gregory today. If he had been going to the library today uncertain of Sherlock’s fate he would have been beside himself with worry. However he knew that John dearly valued Sherlock. And he knew Gregory would allow the two to resume their friendship.

‘Do not worry yourself with how John was acting yesterday. Worry instead with how you speak to him, Sherlock. You must remind yourself that people do not enjoy criticism overly. Do try and be kinder to the poor boy. And treat him as your equal if you wish to remain his.’

Sherlock stayed silent after that. He sat quietly in his seat, staring out of his window thoughtfully. Mycroft wondered, for a moment, who had stolen his brother and thought to replace him with this self-conscious fretful boy.

 

~~

 

Greg had no trouble convincing his higher up that Mycroft was a friend of his and he needed the afternoon off to help him cope. It was a little bit of a lie but he needed to see John, who was no doubt already at the library waiting for Sherlock and Mycroft.

The pre-teen was in fact staring fixedly at the door of the library when Greg appeared, one pile of long forgotten books sat by his side where he knelt behind a shelf. As soon as he spotted Greg he picked up his pile and attempted to pretend he was working hard.

‘Think that book belongs in fiction, matey.’ Greg said, trying not to laugh when John put a well worn copy of _Harry Potter_ in the religion section of non-fiction.

‘You might think so,’ said John shamming a serious tone, ‘but it’s actually like the bible but for wizards. If I put it over there they might think the library is being mean to them for having magic.’

‘Lucky they have you then, aren’t they? Though they’re magic, cant the just magic the book to them? Plus, what’s a wizard doing here? Don’t they have wizard libraries?’

‘Maybe they’re doing muggle studies and need to come here.’

‘Right.’ Greg wasn’t going to pretend he had any idea what a ‘muggle’ was. Beside he had something important to discuss before the Holmes boys appeared. ‘Listen kid, we gotta talk. Quickly too, before Myc and Sherlock get here.’

John looked nervously at Greg, dropping the book he was holding back towards its pile without notice.

‘You like this kid don’t ya?’

‘Sherlock’s really smart, and he’s alright, he just doesn’t know how to be nice. I was gonna teach him about “please” and “thank you”. And not to call people mean names all the time.’

Greg chuckled to himself. ‘You’d be a good teacher, I’m sure. But I don’t want you to get hurt is all.’

John’s face fell and he looked to the ground sadly. Greg put a hand softly on John’s shoulder to reassure him. Maybe if this Sherlock brat could be taught to ‘be nice’ things wouldn’t be too bad. John, glancing and Greg’s hand and sensing a chink in Greg’s armour, began a torrent of promises that Sherlock would be nice from now on, and John would make him do a fair share of the work, and that they wouldn’t get in too much trouble he swore.

‘Yea, well I spoke to Mycroft today-‘

‘You saw Mycroft?’

‘Yes, I saw him. And we had words-‘

‘Good words? Words that Sherlock and I can be friends?’

‘Yes, good words. And we decided that as long as you two be good, and get along-‘

‘We will! We’ll be the best, you betcha! And Sherlock will be nicer, I’ll tell him! Can we be friends? Can we?’

Greg sighed and took his hand off of John’s shoulder so that the boy could bounce like the proper little basketball he was. ‘Yes. You can be friends. For now. Consider this a trial.’

John was off like a rocket. He picked up his stack of books and raced around the library, grin on his face and a bounce in his step. If that was all Greg needed to do to make him happy he really needed to remember it for a rainy day. He laughed to himself and settled on a chair near the front of the library.  

Now to wait for the prince of being rude and king of looking good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uni right? I'm writing whenever I can spare, which (as you can see) isn't often. Sorry :( Hope you're enjoying though.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg and Mycroft have a good evening together watching the boys at the library.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in as many days? No way! haha.  
> Let's give them a good afternoon shall we?

If Mycroft were in fact as cruel as Sherlock often accused him of being he would have laughed at his little brother in this moment of weakness. As it were Mycroft found nothing gleeful about the fact that when they arrived at the library Sherlock needed to be prompted to get out of the car and did not move forwards in advance until Mycroft himself had done so.

The way Sherlock hid behind Mycroft as the entered the library did hold some measure of amusement that Mycroft promised himself he would be allowed to enjoy more fully once some time passed. Perhaps he could regale others with the tale of Sherlock’s reluctance, or maybe even save it to help him cope after a particularly strenuous evening.

Sherlock’s hair had been quickly finger combed just outside the door and his clothes straightened. At first glance he did not appear in any way trampled. Once you took a proper look at the way he held himself slightly to one side due to a bruise on his right leg and, of course, the slight cut above his eyebrow, only then you could tell the day he had truly had.

Gregory was sitting quite near the front of the library, foolish positioning, you could only see about 60% of the library from here, Mycroft’s new seat of choice displayed at least 89%. It was however prime positioning for noticing the Holmes brothers almost immediately as the entered.

He stood quickly and reached forwards to shake Mycroft’s hand. Mycroft returned the gesture and smiled politely. He wasn’t sure where they stood right now but that zing of _he’s touching me_ still flew through his body as though he was being struck by rather pleasant feeling lightning.

Sherlock was eyeing the two of them seriously and looked about to open his mouth and ask what, Mycroft had no doubt, would be a mortifying question, when John spotted them. There was a short squeal from a few shelves away and John half-dropped, half-threw, the book he was attempting to put away before racing up the steps and flying head first into Sherlock.

Mycroft winced on his brother’s behalf. That could not have been comfortable with the bruises Sherlock had collected today. John happily pulled them both up and, just as he was about to pull Sherlock into a strong embrace, seemed to notice the slight flinch Sherlock made when he raised his arms.

‘Locks you ok?’ He asked in a hushed voice, almost secretive in nature.

Sherlock, true to his nature, crossed his arms across his chest and took on a visage of annoyance at the world.

‘It is nothing but the idiocy of my fellow students. It seems they find it difficult to spar with me intellectually and verbally and feel the need to regress to base physical instincts. It is no matter.’

John gasped and started pulling at Sherlock’s clothes, trying to find his injuries and muttering ‘I’m going to be a doctor you know’ in soft tones while Sherlock attempted to scramble out of his reach. Greg looked sharply up at Mycroft in question.

‘It shall be dealt with I assure you.’ He said to Gregory before turning to the young boys, ‘Sherlock, John, I’ve no doubt you have plenty of work to do. I must apologise for our lateness and take full responsibility of that. I am also sure you have much to discuss after yesterday evening’s bout of silence.’

‘Yes!’ John exclaimed, stopping his urgent examination and positively beaming in delight, ‘Sherlock, I have to tell you all about what I learnt in science today! And I’ve been practicing reducing!’

‘ _De_ ducing, John. Come along then. Let us leave Lestrade to fend for himself against the horror that is Fatcroft. I do hope he is still alive when we are finished, and has not been eaten whole by my brother in a fit of hunger.’

They walked off and Mycroft was pleased to hear John defending him in some manner, at least against the cannibalism accusation.

‘Looks like it’s a tough day to be a Holmes.’ Gregory said moving to take his seat again.

Mycroft looked forlornly towards the seats where he knew their supervision of the boys would be easier, but resigned himself to sit in the seats Gregory had chosen. It would not do to appear impolite at this point of their acquaintance.

‘No. It seems in fact that it is a wretched day to be a Holmes. I can only hope that fate believes us worthy of a short respite to the nastiness of the world.’

‘You have the best way of saying something boring and making it sound like poetry, you know?’

Mycroft would not admit that the heat in his cheeks was a blush, perhaps the heating had been suddenly raised.

‘Heh, look at you blushing. Apparently I’m not bad with words either.’

Gregory laughed as Mycroft’s not-blush deepened. ‘You are, of course, quite the talent with words. Though if you wish for poetry I do believe it is down the third aisle to the right.’

‘Like you don’t know some fancy book of poems off by heart.’ Gregory teased.

‘I am afraid I would underwhelm you with my knowledge of classical poetry and bore you with the political poems I happen to have memorised.’ Mycroft said, smiling softly.

‘Any poetry you know’s better than what I know. I think I have- let’s see- Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and… something: Ahh- something to do with rough wind and darling buds?’

‘Lovely and temperate, and I do believe the winds are shaking the buds.’

Gregory laughed and Mycroft could hardly help but join in. He rejoiced at the way Gregory’s eyes crinkled ever so slightly at the corners and how his hair caught the light in such a transfixing way as he shook.

‘See, knew you were too smart for the likes of me.’ Greg chuckled.

‘You are mistaken, Gregory. My knowledge of Shakespeare is completely by Sherlock’s doing. One of his longer running obsessions with pirates lead to an unexpected appreciation of certain plays written by the man. Though I do not doubt he has forgotten completely every line of verse he had me read to him, it still haunts me to this day.’

‘Little tyke keeps you on a short leash, hey?’ Gregory glanced over to where Sherlock and John were working away. John was explaining something to Sherlock and was obviously very excited about it looking at the exaggerated way he waved his arms about. Sherlock scoffed but smiled when John continued on with even more gusto, though Mycroft was unsure how he did so.

‘You’ve no idea how correct you are. One morning I awoke to find myself tied quite thoroughly to the post of my bed. Sherlock, apparently, had been reading Moby Dick and fancied he could catch himself a whale.’

Mycroft shook his head at the memory. Of course at the time he had been furious but now, as he told Gregory and watched his eyes widen in amusement, he quite enjoyed recalling the tale.

‘Yea? Kid’s a menace. Don’t be too worried though. Once John tied me to chair during dinner so I wouldn’t go out with my mates for the night. Reckoned it was his turn for a bit of attention.’

Mycroft laughed with Gregory for a time. It was a pleasant way to spend the evening after a day of such high stress and pressure. They continued to swap anecdotes about the trouble of raising their young boys for some time. Mycroft believed things were going quite well.

There was a slight lapse in conversation when they had heard a large bang from where two little faces peeked guiltily near the counter. Mycroft noticed that Greg seemed to be toying with an idea in his head and finally, after several deep breaths and aborted sentances decided to ask what was on his mind.

‘Well, and I don’t want you to feel like you have to say yes, but I was thinking, maybe, that- Well tomorrow is my day off-’ Greg attempted.

Mycroft dared not dream that this was an attempt to ask him out. No doubt he was just going to ask for a favour. Perhaps he wanted Mycroft to drop John off home while Greg was out with a girl.

‘And, yes I was wondering. I was wondering. Maybe. That you might… wanttogooutwithme-onadate?’

Mycroft was caught between laughing at Gregory’s spectacular form and being frozen from shock that he had actually been asked out by this glorious man, again. This was the second time Gregory had tripped on his words whilst asking Mycroft something, the first time being asking him out to coffee. Mycroft had assumed the coffee was a friendly gesture, was it perhaps possible that Gregory  felt some attraction to him? That was impossible, no?

‘Like I said, you don’t have to say yes.’ Gregory started to say quickly. Mycroft realised he had opted for the frozen reaction and quickly moved to rectify this.

‘No, no, no. I would be quite pleased, thrilled in fact, to accompany you out tomorrow. I have been given the day to myself after today’s incident and am terrible at occupying my own time when I am not either working, or accosted with Sherlock’s enthusiasms.’ Mycroft offered his biggest smile in hopes that it would appease Gregory and soothe his mind.

‘Ugh Fatcroft, you look truly hideous, as always. John and I are unable to place this book on a high shelf, you shall act as our slave boy and put it in its rightful place.’

Ahh and there was the soothing sound of his brother. What would he do without him?

By the time they were ready to go, and Mycroft had set up a date with Gregory, and Sherlock and John had been successfully pried apart, Mycroft was feeling much better about the day than he had previously. In fact every misfortune that had befallen the boys today was completely forgotten by both Holmes siblings.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments make me forget Sherlock walking out of the wedding early, please comment haha :)


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mummy isn't happy.

It seemed Mycroft’s _Survived Sherlock Holmes_ medal might still be in play after the evening at the library they shared.

Mycroft and Sherlock had sauntered happily up to the entrance of their home at complete peace with one another. Sherlock had raced ahead of Mycroft up the stairs and to the door, pushing through it, Mycroft was quite sure with the urgency to continue whatever experiment he was currently conducting.

Mycroft walked more slowly up the stairs and to the door, walking through it and pausing to be sure it shut behind him before turning to consider how to spend the remainder of his evening. No doubt he and Sherlock should enjoy a pleasant meal prepared by the chef. Today called for something special so that was Mycroft’s first point of interest.

He made it through the entrance hall and halfway past the dining room before he heard the cry of anguish from above. It was followed quickly by a panicked yell of ‘Mycroft!’ before it was sharply cut off.

Mycroft was not in the habit of running up steps. If he was ever asked to do so he would politely refuse and walk calmly. His legs could not possibly be made to bound up the numerous steps to the second floor without some complaint. However at the cry from Sherlock he ran, as fast as was humanly possible, back through the rooms, up the stairs and across to Sherlock’s room in a matter of seconds.

‘No. No yelling for Mycroft to save you. You are my child, as is he, and you shall both do as I say and right now-‘

Mrs Holmes cut off her sentence as she noticed Mycroft standing near the door, puffing slightly and frozen in his place. Sherlock was on the floor, no doubt from the force of the blow that had silenced his yell for help. Mummy was looking at Mycroft with a fury in her eyes that seemed to say ‘Leave this instant or suffer’.

They stood as though in some strange tableau for about a minute before Sherlock began scuffling back and broke the moment completely. Mycroft was quite sorry the moment was gone, it had been the calm before the storm.

Mummy stepped towards Sherlock, closing the space he had created and reached as though to wrench him upwards once more.

‘Stop!’

The tableau returned. Sherlock swivelled his shocked eyes towards Mycroft and Mummy straightened to her full height and looked murderously at him. Mycroft for all he was worth felt like shrinking away from that look. He held firm though, temporary insanity hits at the more inopportune moments it would seem.

‘You would dare-!’ Mummy started, her fingers curling to resemble claws.

‘Sherlock.’ Mycroft said simply, holding a hand out for the younger boy. Sherlock scrambled to gain his feet and ran in a wide arc around Mummy to grasp at Mycroft who pulled him behind his bigger frame.

Mycroft has never seen his mother like this before. She was always the picture of cool disinterest, with perhaps a sneer or grimace thrown towards her boys when they were in her line of sight. There was a slight tremble to her frame as he watched. The vague scent of spirits mixed with the familiar smell of strawberries. Her eyes were red. She had been drinking.

‘That boy-!’ she said, gesturing at where Sherlock hid behind Mycroft, ‘That boy is not worth the trouble he causes!’

‘That boy is your son.’ Mycroft replied evenly, ‘You should speak not speak of him in such a way.’

‘Oh?’ Mummy said harshly. ‘He is my son. I shall talk to him however I please! That goes for you too, you ungrateful lump.’

Sherlock whimpered behind Mycroft. Mycroft gave his hand a short squeeze and hoped it was enough reassurance, he didn’t dare speak to him or turn away from Mummy. Perhaps the best option for the moment was a strategic retreat.

‘Sherlock and I are leaving.’ He said firmly while taking a step back. ‘We shall return at a later time and I hope by then you are fit to have a civil conversation.’

He did not turn to face away from his mother until he had backed out of her line of sight. He heard the smash of something, most probably Sherlock’s heavy student microscope, being thrown against the floor. Sherlock jumped and Mycroft quickened their pace.

‘I hope you never come back!’ screamed Mummy from Sherlock’s room.

There was another crash that was certainly the rest of Sherlock’s scientific equipment joining the microscope on the floor. Mycroft spared a hope that there were no terribly dangerous chemical’s included in Sherlock’s set. It would not do to have a fire start or a stain be made on the carpets.

They were back out the front doors in no time and in Mycroft’s car. Here Mycroft paused. Where should they go? Where could they go? He had been craving a nice meal but now he wasn’t sure he could stomach it and Sherlock hardly ate as it was so it was not worth going to a restaurant and attempting to force food down his throat. There was still an hour before the shops shut, perhaps they could visit a book store or the little shop Sherlock got his chemistry supplies from, no doubt he would be needing new equipment.

Yes. That was a good plan. Not only wold it give them something to do but Sherlock would be heartened by Mycroft’s willingness to buy him whatever supplies he might think he needs. It always pleased him when they spent copious amounts of money on his occupations.

Sherlock sat in silence, quietly brooding. The look on his face was worrying. It was not his usual displeasure with his world, more as though he had been betrayed by his world. He had surely been expecting Mummy to be displeased but he could not have guessed what had lain in wait. The silence was broken the moment he realised their destination.

‘This set back has been quite unfortunate.’ He said in his usual annoyed tone. ‘The work I have been dedicating myself to these last few weeks is no doubt in pieces and-‘

He took a deep breath and let it out shakily. Mycroft was scared to turn and face him. He continued on strong though after the short pause.

‘-And my note book will take some time to sort through, given that all the pages were gathered. The microscope will no doubt need replacing, as will my set of test tubes and beakers. I was in need of new petri dishes regardless. I am unsure which chemicals will need to be gathered. I shall make a guess at several, but shall have to make a list when we return home. Perhaps a psycho-social experiment is in order whilst my supplies are gathered once more.’

He continued on all the way to the shop. He was listing chemicals as he thought of them, attempting to decide on a new experiment to run and wondering what part John Watson might play in it all. Much to Sherlock’s disdain Mycroft had insisted John not be used as a guinea pig, at least not without consulting Mycroft, Gregory and John first.

‘It ruins the whole purpose of the experiment if the person under examination is aware they are being examined!’ he said heatedly as they parked beside Sherlock’s favourite shop.

‘And yet it helps the remainder of us hold on to our weak grip on sanity.’ Mycroft rebutted calmly.

They climbed out of the car and Mycroft noted that whilst Sherlock bounded out of the car he allowed Mycroft to lead the way into the store. This worried him until Sherlock started racing around the shelves yelling about Mycroft’s incompetence. That’s the Sherlock Mycroft knew.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm mean. Next chapter will be nice though.
> 
> Questions or comments? (yes I'm studying to teach kids haha)


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg and Mycroft have a date to come to terms with.

Thursday. Greg took a deep breath and rolled over in his bed to smack the alarm going off next to him. Today was Thursday. Today Greg could ignore the traitor of an alarm that woke him up rudely every morning throughout the week. Because Thursday, today, was Greg’s day off.

He stretched out before snuggling back into the warmth of bed. Today would be a good day. Today he could stay in bed and then later he had a date with Mycroft. Wait. What?!

Greg shot up in his bed. He had a _date_! With Mycroft _bloody_ Holmes! How the hell had he managed that? Where was he supposed to take Mycroft-bloody-Holmes? What was he supposed to wear on a date with Mycroft-bloody-Holmes? Would he even be able to hold a proper conversation with Mycroft-bloody-Holmes?

He jumped out of bed and ran into the kitchen. Maybe his mum might have an idea.

John was sat at the table when he appeared. He had a bowl of cereal in front of him and was chatting happily away to Greg’s mum about all the things he and Sherlock had been speaking about at the library the day before. Breakfast was the only time they really all sat down together.

‘-And then we found out that blondes have more hair than brunettes, did you know that? Its cause their hair is lighter it needs to be thicker. Sherlock’s gonna think up a way we can test it with our hair that doesn’t involve chopping it all off, he likes his hair too much. I like mine t- Greg are you alright? You look sick?’

Greg felt sick. Mycroft wasn’t just a good looking bloke, he was smart too. Shit, shit, shit!

‘Mum I need help.’ Greg said, sitting at the table and regarding the bowl of cereal she placed in front of him warily.

‘What is it, dear? Be quick I gotta go in three minutes, sweet.’ She sat down next to him and looked at him expectantly.

Greg balked. Shit. He just remembered Mycroft was a guy. His mum didn’t know he fancied blokes yet. He could lie. But that would be not good, and John was sitting right there and was sure to dob him in if he suddenly used the wrong pronoun. Mum wouldn’t care. Right? Greg didn’t have enough time to speculate.

‘Mum, I asked this guy out-‘

‘Guy?’ _Shit._

‘You mean Mycroft, Greg? Did you ask Mycroft out?’ _Not now John._

‘Yes guy, and yes Mycroft. See my problem is this, he’s this fancy high class bloke and I’ve no idea where to take him for lunch.’

‘You asked out a posh bloke?’ _Stop smiling like that mum!_

‘Wow! You asked out Mycroft?! Sherlock will never believe this!’ _Shut up John!_

‘Wait, Mycroft is Sherlock’s big brother right?’ _Really what is that smile?_

‘Yes, Myc is Sherlock’s older brother. He’s maybe a year younger than me. And he’s doing some really smart politics thing. And he works for the government. And he speaks so fancy. And he’s good looking. Oh god what have I done? I can’t go out with Mycroft-bloody-Holmes!’ Greg was going into full blown panic mode.

‘Greg sweetie, calm down. You’ll be fine. If he said yes that means he likes you too, doesn’t it? What kinds of food does he like?’

‘I don’t know. How can I go out with him and I don’t even know what he likes?’ His voice was starting to come out a little squeaky now.

‘That’s okay. That’s what dates are for, hon. Getting to know each other.’ said his mum calmly.

‘Mycroft likes Italian.’ John muttered, almost to himself, ‘And honey chicken from the shop down near Sherlock’s school.’

‘What?’ Greg whipped around to stare at John.

‘Sherlock told me. He said Mycroft was fat and I told him it’s not nice to say that, and it’s not true anyway, and Locks said it’s not nice to watch Mycroft eat all that Italian food and honey chicken.’ John said calmly.

‘There you go.’ Said his mum, getting back up to resume her morning routine. ‘You can take this Mycroft bloke to the Italian place in town. It’s cheap, but the food’s good.’

Greg felt his heart rate return to safe levels. Italian, he could do that. And that place in town was nice. Nice and affordable. He let his head fall forwards and hit the table.

‘Careful now, wouldn’t want you killing all your brain cells. You’ve got to see a posh, smart, good-looking bloke for lunch.’ His mum teased. ‘And you will be staying up tonight, waiting for me to get home, so I can hear all about this Mycroft.’

 

~~

 

Mycroft had barely slept a wink last night. After an hour at the store, and a further hour at a restaurant in which both he and Sherlock had picked listlessly at their food, Mycroft had had to concede that it was time to go home.

When they had arrived back Mummy had not even been in the house and Mycroft worried what that meant before helping Sherlock settle into his bed, away from the smashed remnants of Sherlock’s room. Sherlock had complained when it was first suggested he sleep in Mycroft’s bed, but after a brief glance in his room had quietly agreed to it.

Mycroft had already decided that he would spend the free time he had tomorrow looking at two roomed apartments near Sherlock’s school. Yes this was the first time Mummy had acted out violently but he still knew a home environment where Sherlock knew he lived with someone who actively disliked him could hardly be healthy.

Mycroft had plenty of money saved in his accounts and in a year’s time he would be allowed access to his quite substantial trust fund. It was definitely time for the boys to move away from the big empty unloving home they had known their whole lives and strive out for something better.

So instead of sleeping Mycroft had been scouring the papers and internet for places he could afford to rent, or even perhaps convince his father to buy in his name. He had turned up a total of six results. Sherlock, at about four in the morning, had plodded up to his desk and, seeing what he was up to, announced that he must be allowed to inspect prospective homes with Mycroft, Mycroft had agreed.

So when, at eight in the morning as Mycroft was driving a very chatty Sherlock to school, Mycroft had wondered what he could do with his free day and he had been stunned to realise he had forgotten all about his date with Gregory.

He, Mycroft Holmes, had a date with Gregory Lestrade! Officer Gregory Lestrade! Mycroft got giddy just thinking about it. It would be the most pleasant lunch he was sure. He would be able to converse calmly with Gregory, with no worry about Sherlock and John causing world war three with the library staff.

They would sit, and eat, and talk. Mycroft suddenly wasn’t so sure about himself. What did one talk about on a date? He had never been on one before. Would Gregory get bored of his talk about politics? What else was there to talk about? And where would they go? Mycroft could hardly decide on what to wear if he did not know where they were destined to go.

‘Fatcroft! What are you thinking about?’ Asked Sherlock angrily.

‘Nothing my dear brother, do not worry yourself.’

‘I’m hardly worried,’ Sherlock retorted hotly, ‘I was merely trying to ascertain what it was that had you looking as if you were having a food-stroke. I was trying to explain to you the specifics of what we need for our residence. I feel it is an important matter that must be fully discussed.’

‘Of course, Sherlock. And your input will be sought, highly regarded and valued when choosing a place to live. Perhaps write a list.’

‘Yes. You are proof that excellent ideas do sometimes come from the most idiotic of people. I shall begin my list as soon as I am able and you shall take note of every aspect. I shall need a room for a laboratory, a library space, a- Are you even listening?!’

Mycroft shook himself and tried once again to focus on Sherlock’s voice and not the impending doom he felt when thinking about the massive fool he would make of himself when he met with Gregory later that day.

‘We will not be able to spare enough rooms for all of your designs, however I agree room for your experiments must be taken into account.’ He hadn’t quite considered that. Why would he when he was going to die today of utter embarrassment.

‘Fatroft!’ Sherlock was glaring at him. No doubt he had missed some important piece of information Sherlock had just been kind enough to give him.

Luckily for Mycroft they parked in the visitors space at Sherlock’s school.

‘Yes, Sherlock. Write your list today. I shall be here to pick you up at precisely ten past three. Try to stay out of trouble today Sherlock.’ Mycroft got out of the car and straightened his suit.

Sherlock stared at him for a moment, briefly confused. ‘Fatcroft, what are you doing out of the car? Do you not have work today? Why are you out of the car?’

Ahh, Mycroft had not told Sherlock about his little experience at work the prior day. It would do no good to worry the boy, if it would worry the boy. ‘I am merely going to go into the school and inquire as to why Mummy was called yesterday instead of myself. I am your emergency contact while you are at school, it will not do for them to bypass me.’

Sherlock nodded slowly before hurrying away to his class with a quick ‘Be on time this afternoon, Fatcroft!’ over his shoulder.

Mycroft moved towards the main entry to the offices in Sherlock’s school. It was a big imposing sort of public school. The buildings were made of old brick and had been around for centuries, according to the brochures at least.

When he entered the main office a secretary motioned for him to be seated and he heard her say ‘Mr Holmes is here as you thought he would be’ to whomever she was talking to on the phone. After a moment she nodded once and pointed Mycroft through a door to the principal’s office.

Clearly they were expecting him. That could be good or bad. Mycroft was not a betting man but if he were he would place his money on the latter. It was never good to be anticipated. He only hoped he would be out in time to go home and dress for his date.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to say thanks for the comments, everytime I post I get nervous people wont like it but comments make me feel warm and fuzzy, so thanks.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Date part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is ending up longer than I thought and as such shall be split in two... slight style change.

Greg was desperately trying to stop nervously running his hands through his hair as he waited for Mycroft in front of the library, where they had agreed to meet. Hell, it shouldn’t be this nerve wracking, he barely knew the guy but they got along, most of the time. He ran his hand through his hair.

Mycroft was ten minutes late now. Or was he? They had agreed on meeting at twelve, hadn’t they? Greg just needed to calm himself down. Myc was a busy guy, right? He had things to do. He’d get here. He wasn’t having last minute thoughts about not arriving. Definitely not. Greg ran his hand through his hair.

_As Mycroft approached he saw Gregory run his hand through his hair. That beautiful almost silver blonde. Mycroft wished he could be granted permission to run his hand there. Such thoughts were, of course, not appropriate at this early stage of the day though. Especially not to the late party._

Greg let out a sigh of not-relief when he saw Mycroft approach. It was not-relief because there had never been any worry in the first place. Greg was fine. Greg was cool. Greg was using the word cool to describe himself and was therefore most certainly not okay.

Greg held out his hand as Mycroft approached. Was that appropriate? Did you shake hands with the guy you were about to go on a date with? Greg forced himself to make the handshake seem more casual. Not that he was sure there was even such thing as a casual handshake.

_Gregory had shaken his hand. That could be not good. Did that mean that he was annoyed at Mycroft’s tardiness. Blast that stupid school of Sherlock’s. He had spent all morning there, discussing in angry terms the continuation of Sherlock in that school. And now, because of his extended meeting, Mycroft was late for his date and Gregory was not happy with him._

‘I apologise for my lateness. Dealing with Sherlock’s little problem from yesterday, you see.’

Greg nodded perhaps a touch too enthusiastically. That was right, little tyke had shown up at the library with quite the shiner. John hadn’t told Greg a lot of that story, or at least not as much as he knew. Some bullies had called John Sherlock’s imaginary friend and when the kid had tried to convince them otherwise his smart mouth had gotten him in a world of trouble.

Of course today Mycroft would have to go into the school and deal with that. Greg was so stupid for arranging to meet today. He should have asked if Myc was free on the weekend or something. Though he’d probably be on Sherlock duty. John had also told Greg how well Sherlock got along with his parents, though the fact that Mycroft never mentioned them in any stories he told spoke volumes too.

Oh god, he’d been quiet for too long. Shit. Say something!

‘It’s a good day for lunch, hey?’ Idiot.

_Gregory ran his hand through his hair as he remarked on the weather. Oh dear lord, it could not regress this fast. His love affair had only just begun. It could not be killed with small talk before they reached the ten minute mark. Say something!_

‘It is quite, isn’t it?’ Idiot!

Well this was fun. Greg looked awkwardly at his shoes and back up at Mycroft. Mycroft had glanced back towards the library but they caught eyes for a moment. Greg couldn’t help himself. A fit of laughter over took him and he was doubled over in seconds. Lucky for him he could hear Mycroft laughing just as hard.

‘Oh,’ Mycroft gasped, ‘That was just ghastly wasn’t it?’

‘Yes, heh, that was possibly the most awkward moment of my life.’

‘Well then I am quite glad to have shared this milestone in your being. I am equally glad it is over.’

_Making Gregory laugh was his new favourite thing. The way his hair shone as he threw his head back was truly something to behold. Oh if only Mycroft could do this forever._

Just like that the tension was broken. Greg felt a comfortable peace come over them and he started moving towards the restaurant he’d chosen just a few blocks away.

‘So, how’s the little tyke holding up then?’ Greg asked lightly.

‘Ahh, things are never as good as they seem. Sherlock has been in quite a lot of trouble recently. It looks as though I shall need to find him another school soon.’

Well that was unexpected. ‘Wait, wasn’t Sherlock the one who came out of all that with a split eyebrow? I’d hate to see the other kids if he’s the one getting punished.’

Mycroft chuckled and Greg put a point on his side of the scoreboard for today.

‘Yes, well apparently they were provoked. Along with several other misdeeds Sherlock has been enjoying lately; aggravating teachers, starting fires in the labs, correcting the books in the library.’

‘Correcting books?’

‘Yes, with red pen and signing it “fixed by SH”’

Greg laughed again. Geez they weren’t joking when they said this kid didn’t know how to act in polite society. He could picture the scowl on Sherlock’s face as he did what he felt he must to stop the decline in stupidity within his educational institution.

‘And John? How is he settling into his new school?’ Mycroft asked in his silken tones. Gah, that voice!

‘Yea. Well it’s not actually that new. He’s been there a few months now. Not sure settling in is the right phrase by now.’ Greg was going to the school this afternoon to pick John up, as he did every Thursday, so that he could chat with the teacher about how John was doing.

Silence fell for a short while as they walked. It wasn’t awkward like it had been before. It was nice. Greg was quite pleased with himself for not looking like an idiot yet. They hadn’t breeched any intellectual subjects yet, that was true, but he still had a chance.

Every few step their hands would brush softly. Greg wondered if he should make an active attempt to stop it from happening. It might be inappropriate at this stage. However, just as he was mentally debating his next move he noticed that Mycroft’s breath caught, ever so slightly whenever their hands touched.

Greg took a breath. Greg ran a hand through his hair. And Greg grabbed at Mycroft’s fingers with his other hand. He took another breath and tugged at the strands of hair on the back of his neck. Mycroft went pink. He stopped breathing for a second and Greg had half a mind to drop his hand and run.

‘You don’t mind do ya?’ Greg asked quickly.

He was holding his hand! Gregory was holding his hand! He was holding his hand! He was also speaking. Oh god, he was speaking. What was he saying? Mycroft couldn’t hear over the roar of blood in his ears. Oh, breathe! Mycroft forced his lungs back into action. There, that felt better. Now he could hear his new life partner speak.

‘Cause I mean we don’t have to do all that hand holdy stuff, if ya don’t want.’

What? What had Mycroft missed in his brief leave of absence? Not do ‘hand holdy stuff’? Ridiculous! He must set this straight immediately.

‘Oh, it’s quite fine I assure you.’ Mycroft said, trying to keep his tone as even as possible.

_The crisis seemed averted. Mycroft shifted his hands so that their fingers were laced, leaving Gregory no chance to think that he should take away, what was now, Mycroft’s only tether to the earth._

Greg grinned when Mycroft moved his fingers for a firmer hold. Not too bad, another point under Greg’s name. He ran his thumb along the soft skin on the back of Mycroft’s hand and hoped his fingers weren’t too calloused. Or that his palm would get sweaty. Oh god, now he was thinking about his palm getting sweaty it was becoming a self-fulfilling prophecy. Calm down, take a breath, hand through hair.

And, yay, here they were. Greg once again worried that he had chosen a bad place to bring Mycroft. Yes, John said he liked Italian, but did he only like high-end, expensive Italian? Or would cheap, walk in, café-style Italian go down well?

‘So, this is the place. Hope it’s as good as last time I came. Mum recommended it.’

 _Oh how quaint. This place was wonderful. Italian, how had Greg known this was his favourite? It cannot have been a lucky guess, surely. The walls were a deep red and the floor was made of stones made to resemble marble. There were hundreds of pictures, photos and paintings, covering the walls that were not featuring the floor to ceiling windows near the entrance. And, most bizarrely, there were countless odd items hanging from the ceiling, including but not limited to, a bike, an upside down table and a feature chandelier boxed in glass._   

‘Italian. My favorite.’ Mycroft said quietly.

Score! ‘Yea, John said Sherlock mentioned it?’

Mycroft chuckled darkly. ‘Yes, of course he did. One time I took him to an Italian place. Once. I cringe at the thought of a repeat experience.’

‘That bad, huh?’ Greg laughed.

‘Quite. Though to be in your company here, I could not think of a more enticing place to be.’

A waitress came and quickly seated them. Soon they were browsing the menu. Greg tried his best not to look at Mycroft too often. He would prefer Myc not to think him some weird staring creep. It was hard to help it though. The serious contemplative expression on Mycroft’s face as he attempted to decide what he wanted. His posture while he sat, so casual and yet so powerful and in charge. And he was in some imposing three piece suit that made him look years older than he was.

_There was no doubt that Gregory was staring at Mycroft. It thrilled Mycroft to the bone. It sang in his blood. Every glance of his eyes was electrifying. Mycroft hadn’t had a chance to go home and change so he was still in, what he hoped was, his imposing “dont mess with me” suit. Apparently it was appreciated._

‘So, Gregory, what have you spent your free time doing this morning?’

‘You mean apart from change ten times before i made it to the door and freak out cause i knew I’d be seeing you today, and hell that’s exciting. Well, I also had time to do my hair.’

Another point to Greg, Mycroft was laughing again.

‘Surely you were not “freaking out”, as you so delicately put it, over myself.’

‘Well, maybe freaking out isn’t the right phrase.’ Greg said, taking a moment to consider, ‘Maybe “pulling my hair out, feeling nervous as hell” fits better.’

Mycroft laughed again, ‘Well I must say your hair is looking quite admirably in place.’

_Gregory had been worried about seeing him. Gregory had been nervous. Ridiculous. Surely Mycroft was the one who should worry. It was, after all, his first date._

‘Yea, well, I told it if it didn’t behave I’d shave it all off.’

_Oh what a horrible notion!_

‘My dear Gregory. I could think of no worse punishment. To shave off your wondrous hair would be a crime.’

Wondrous hair, hey? Greg could live with that. He chuckled softly and ran a hand through his hair.

‘If you say so. Stupid stuff, colour makes me look like an old man.’

‘On the contrary I believe it creates an air of sophistication. It is quite handsome.’

Holy shit, Myc just called him handsome. Hold up, Greg needed to call the freaking queen and make sure she knew that Mycroft Holmes thought he was handsome. Or his hair at least. But it still counted. Greg was screaming internally.

When the waitress arrived not two seconds after Greg scrambled at his menu. Mycroft quickly ordered a grilled panzanella salad and Greg chose whatever pasta happened to be today’s special. He could hardly tell, more important things were happening.

‘So, you are in the police force, Gregory.’ Mycroft continued once the waitress left with their order.

_Mycroft might not know much about any topic other than politics but in that subject he was good. He knew how to make people feel at ease, how to direct conversation without having to create it. Hopefully that would work now._

‘Yeah, for just over three months now. It’s great. Always wanted to be a copper. And you’re in traffic?’

‘Yes,’ Mycroft scowled, ‘Rather boring, but I am told it will be beneficial.’

Shit, Greg lost a point. Interesting though. ‘Who told ya that? You don't seem the type to do something just cause someone said.’

‘My father. One rarely argues with the man.’ Mycroft said shortly

_If only they could get away from the topic of his job. Mycroft had thought it would be a good bet to talk about Gregory’s work, he seemed to enjoy it. How had conversation swung his way?_

‘Ah.’ Greg had a second of sadness thinking of his own dad but it passed quickly.

Happy thoughts, happy thoughts, change the subject.

‘So...’

Well done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Italian place reference picture: http://www.seattleweekly.com/csp/mediapool/sites/dt.common.streams.StreamServer.cls?STREAMOID=m5_piTEz5xkG1Em_fbUlk8$daE2N3K4ZzOUsqbU5sYunUIulBWURVywKOXwKarRJWCsjLu883Ygn4B49Lvm9bPe2QeMKQdVeZmXF$9l$4uCZ8QDXhaHEp3rvzXRJFdy0KqPHLoMevcTLo3h8xh70Y6N_U_CryOsw6FTOdKL_jpQ-&CONTENTTYPE=image/jpeg


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Date part 2.

‘Yes...’ Mycroft muttered.

_Oh bless the waitress who decided to bring out their food at that exact moment. Mycroft wished dearly that he could push past his nerves and simply have a nice conversation. Unfortunately his worst fears had been realised._

‘You shall have to forgive my seeming lack of conversation skills. It has been a hard morning and I never quite did have the knack of talking to others.’

‘I don’t know. You talked those librarians down.’

‘Ahh, let me alter that last sentence then perhaps. I never quite had the knack talking to others, of whom I did not want to convince to do something for myself, or my brother.’

_Gregory was laughing. Apparently that had been the right thing to say. Mycroft breathed a sigh of relief._

‘How’s this then. Convince me to go out with you again.’

‘Go out with me again.’ Mycroft smiled with his most wicked smile and was pleased when Gregory turned a slight shade of red.

‘Yea, ok, I’ll do it. Solid argument.’ Geez, Mycroft could turn on the charm heavy. That look. Wow. Greg took a moment to relearn how to breathe. ‘You know, that smile of yours is dangerous. Warn a guy, I might have had a heart failure.’

‘In the future I shall be pleased to warn you.’

_Mycroft revelled in the way Gregory stared at him as though he were the most desirable man in the room. Well, that was better. Perhaps he should have attempted flirting rather than conversation. He may not have any personal experience, he had seen it been done many times though. Couldn’t be too difficult._

‘So, Gregory,’ Mycroft said, aiming for a smoulder, ‘Do you come to this cafe often?’

Gregory was in a state of shock. That was the most cliche thing anyone he’d ever dated had seriously said to him. Yet, accompanied with that look, it worked. Two can play that game though. Greg smiled back his most suggestive smile.

‘Only when someone makes it worth my while to come. You seem quite worth it. Might ruin the place for anyone else. Who could measure up to you? You have the best blush, by the way.’

Mycroft blushed harder. ‘Yes, well, it seems you are quite adept at heightening blood flow. Silly really, I hardly would call myself a blushing maid.’

Greg laughed, ‘And yet you do it so well.’

_Mycroft blushed harder. Gregory had started eating his pasta, it looked good, Mycroft had to admit. He picked at his salad half-heartedly._

‘How’s the rabbit food?’ Greg said smiling at Mycroft through a mouth of his pasta. It was excellent, this pasta, rich and delicious. He was glad his mum suggested it to him.

‘Quite nice. I do enjoy a good salad.’ Mycroft said, lifting a tomato up and into his mouth.

Greg watched as the fork slowly made its way up. Watched as Mycroft’s lips opened to admit the fruit-vegetable-whatever. Then as they closed around the prongs of the fork and it was drawn slowly out of his mouth.

‘I enjoy watching you enjoy a nice salad.’ Greg managed with a slightly breathless laugh and a hand running through his hair.

_Mycroft smiled across at Gregory. He had never been so flattered in his life. It was a rather large change from Sherlock and his calls of ‘Fatcroft’. He had never particularly had friends at school to boost his esteem either. The only compliments he received were based on his academic success. This was quite a nice experience._

‘I am grateful that you think so. It is kind of you to say.’

They ate in silence for a moment. Mycroft looking slightly embarrassed by the attention he was getting and Greg simply eating his meal, bite by bite.

‘So, and tell me if you’d rather not say, but what do you want to do? If traffic’s not your thing.’ Greg asked. He still couldn’t imagine Mycroft doing anything he didn’t want.

‘I rather have a fondness for negotiation. I would like to be able to put it to work in a meaningful setting. Somewhere I could better use my skills in a broad collection of tasks.’

‘You’re going to be PM aren’t you?’ Greg said jokingly

Mycroft chuckled his reply, ‘And suffer the fools who surround that position? I think not.’

‘Even worse then. You’ll be controlling us all in secret. Mastermind like you could do it too.’

‘Have no fear, Gregory. I am sure to be kind to those who have pleased me.’ Mycroft smiled.

‘Well,’ Greg purred, ‘I’d better start pleasing you.’

_Mycroft choked at the implications behind that sentence. He literally choked. Oh he was going to die. He couldn’t breathe. He coughed, hard. Gregory looked on concerned and reaching over to help. Mycroft held up a hand. Fine, he was fine. Breathe. Fine. Good._

‘I apologise.’ He coughed, reaching for his water. He needed a distraction for a moment. ‘And you have always wanted to be on the police force?’

Greg took a moment, unsure whether he should continue on or look after Mycroft, who was slightly red in the face and still stifling the odd cough. Mycroft’s eyes pleaded with him to continue though, so he did.

‘Yea. Always thought it’d be great, ya know? I really want to be a detective though, eventually.  Probably all romantically screwed in my head but... helping people, catching baddies, the whole lot. I think I could do a good job of it.’

_Gregory had a dreamy look to his face as he imagined his ideal future. Mycroft always admired someone with motivation and drive. And he wanted to help people, how noble._

They continued to discuss their goals for some time. Conversation moved towards Sherlock and John’s grand plans; Sherlock dreamed of being a detective also, which Greg found amusing, and John fancied himself a paramedic.

Greg talked briefly about his family’s recent move to the city, trying to avoid the topic of his dad as much as possible. Mycroft got the point and didn’t push the matter, focusing instead of the positives of the move.

They finished their meals, talking about favourite past times and other such trivial information. Mycroft was quite pleased with himself for maintaining a happy conversation and Greg was just happy he hadn’t said anything outstandingly stupid yet. They ordered drinks to keep their table and continued to gab away.

When two thirty came it was a shock to both of them. Greg had asked someone to warn them of the time so they’d have plenty of time to get to the schools of their respective dependants.  Mycroft once again found an admirable trait in Greg’s forward thinking.

‘Right, guess you’d better collect Sherlock. Wouldn’t want a repeat of yesterday.’ Greg said, he had a fake cheery smile on. He’d really been enjoying himself.

‘Yes, I would rather avoid such a situation.’ Mycroft sighed, reaching for his wallet.

‘No.’ Greg said quickly, ‘First time’s on me.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous. Allow me to pay my share at least.’

‘No. I asked you, I pay. Besides you had a salad, it’s one of the cheapest things on the menu. I’ve got this.’

Mycroft smiled and conceded. He hardly needed to be paid for. He wished he could press the matter. However he suspected Gregory would appreciate the gesture, just once.

They moved to the door and walked back to the library in relative silence. Greg didn’t hesitate to grab Mycroft’s hand this time, swinging it in time between them.

‘That was fun.’ Greg smiled.

‘I cannot argue with your assessment. I have had a most agreeable lunch and do look forwards to a repeat.’ Mycroft fiddled with the edge of his cuffs. Suddenly unsure of how this was meant to go.

‘Yes. Well. I’ll see you in half hour back here.’ Greg ran a hand through his hair. _Do it!_ his brain screamed, _just kiss him! Just a little one. Let him know you’re interested._

The both of them swayed on their feet, slightly turning towards their cars before coming back to face each other fully.

Neither could guess who moved forwards first. It seemed a mutual decision had been made. Their lips connected. It was brief and chaste but Mycroft felt as though he would implode into himself as he pulled away.

Greg grinned up at him and ran a hand through his hair. Mycroft smiled happily and looked at his shoes, straightening his already perfect jacket, shocked by his own actions.

‘I shall see you soon Gregory.’ He mumbled quickly.

Then he was spinning on his heel and racing away to his car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long :L


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg and Mycroft pick up their boys

Mycroft arrived at Sherlock’s school earlier than normal. Instead of waiting at his car near the entrance he walked onto the school grounds and stood in clear view of the door. Perhaps he needed to work harder at earning his medal.

He barely even noticed the glares that were thrown his way from people Mycroft recognised as the parents of Sherlock’s class mates. He was far too high on the success of his lunch. Gregory Lestrade had kissed him. It was the most wondrous news he had heard since the day he was told of Sherlock’s birth.

He was smiling like a mad man surely. The glares around him became uncertain as he directed his smile towards one or two of the closer offenders. He could hardly spare a thought for other’s perceptions of him today, Gregory had enjoyed his company and that was all he needed.

Sherlock exited the school after a wait of approximately eight minutes. In that time most had moved away from Mycroft so Sherlock’s glare found him easily. Mycroft revelled a moment in the brief flicker of relief that spread on Sherlock’s face before it fell away to be replaced by annoyance and indignation.

Sherlock stormed over to Mycroft and quickly passed him, bee lining straight to the car. Mycroft turned on his heel weightlessly and followed him, waving shortly to one parent whose scowl had returned at the sight of his little brother's retreating form. The woman was so shocked she simply looked on dumbly.

‘Mycroft you are acting most peculiarly. It is possible you have been drugged.’ Sherlock inquired as Mycroft caught him up.

‘I am certain I have not been drugged today Sherlock. How was school?’

‘It was fine.’ Sherlock answered shortly.

Mycroft did not miss that Sherlock had remised from calling him his favourite nickname. Things surely could not get better today. They hopped into the car and Mycroft began to hum softly along with the classical radio he had turned up slightly. Sherlock had sat in silence for a moment before he could take it no longer.

‘What on Earth are you doing Fatcroft?!’ Ahh, there it was. Like an old friend.

‘Nothing, Sherlock. We shall be at the library quickly enough, restrain yourself til then if you please.’

‘I do not please! You were smiling like an inebriated fool at the school. You waved at that imbecilic woman as you passed. You practically _skipped_ to the car like some fatuous child. And, now! Now you are humming along to subpar renditions of classic music!’

Mycroft reached forwards and turned the volume dial up. Sherlock scowled his deepest, hardest scowl at him.

‘I shall not be silenced by this wretched screeching!’

‘I cannot hear you Sherlock. Perhaps the music is too loud. Might it be that you will need to wait until we have reached the library.’ Mycroft called over the music.

Sherlock certainly wasn’t pleased. He reached forwards to turn the music off but Mycroft slapped his hand away softly. Sherlock’s mouth opened up to an ‘o’ and he stared, astonished, at his big brother. He reached for the dial again but was once more slapped away.

Sherlock let out the most dramatic huff he could accomplish and crossed his arms for added affect. Mycroft was in a strange mood and he was going to find out why.

 

~~

 

Greg was above the freaking moon when he went to pick up John that evening. He arrived just on time, little kids screaming happily and running all about the place. It couldn’t have fit his mood better, the wild overpowering joy.

John was in year seven so the kids in his class were acting a bit more sensible, but the underlying current of end of the day pleasure was strong. John was sitting with a couple kids from his class. Greg was pleased as punch to see that he wasn’t sat by himself as per usual. Greg caught John’s eye and pointed over to the teacher. John nodded once before turning back to the conversation he was engaged in.

John’s teacher, Miss Bleeze, was ready for him. She smiled at the parents she was talking to and quickly finished the conversation. She reached for a few scraps of paper on her desk and motioned for Greg to sit on the spare chair near her.

‘Greg. It’s good to see you this week.’ She smiled.

‘Yea, thanks, good to see you too. I hope.’ They both chuckled, it was a long standing joke they had.

‘Well,’ she straightened her papers getting straight into it. ‘John has been a bit all over the place this week. He came in Monday acting uncharacteristically happy, Tuesday too. He was chatty and played with the other kids.’

Greg grimaced softly, knowing what was coming next.

‘Wednesday was not as good. He reverted back into himself and I was worried one of the kids had upset him. Or maybe he was over worked from the previous days. Being quiet is normal but he was very moody too.’

‘Yea, that’s my fault.’ Greg admitted. ‘We weren’t getting on that day.’

Miss Bleeze nodded quickly and wrote something down on her paper. ‘Well, I’m betting whatever it is was resolved last night.’

‘Yea, John and I had a talk and worked things out.’

‘Mhmm.’ She finished writing her note quickly. ‘That about sums things up this week. You’re free to go.’

They both laughed at their second in-joke. Greg looked over to John and motioned that he was ready to go.

‘Thanks for your time Miss Bleeze.’ He said, shaking her hand.

He turned just as John reached him, ruffling his hair and guiding him towards the classroom door. John was jumping restlessly on his toes and grumbled briefly when Greg touched his hair. They did it every day Greg picked him up.

‘How’d the day go, kid?’ Greg said as John bounced impatiently next to him.

‘Good, good. Can’t you walk faster?’

Greg grinned. John wasn’t the only one who was busting to get to the library today. More time with Mycroft sounded wonderful.

‘No, you can walk with me.’ Greg laughed.

John stopped walking suddenly. Memory hitting him so hard it almost pushed him back.

‘You went out today.’ He said, excitement building in his voice. ‘You went out with Mycroft today!’

Greg rolled his eyes as John started racing around him in circles. He was having questions thrown at him faster than he could think to answer.

‘How was it? Whatcha eat? Was it nice? Did you flirt? Did you kiss?’

Greg’s ears started burning and John stopped in his tracks again.

‘You kissed!’ John leapt into the air in victory. ‘Yes, you did! I can tell! I can deduce it!’

Greg grumbled under his breath about how annoying that deducing was gonna get, but he smiled at John.

‘Yes, you dirty pre-teen. Myc and I kissed. But only quickly, and just a little one. No weird fantasies for you.’ He teased.

John hardly noticed the jab though as he started singing ‘Greg and Mycroft’ loudly enough for anyone around to hear. He gained a few weird glances but mostly people smiled at them as they walked to the car.

Time to go see the Holmes boys. Greg wondered vaguely how Sherlock would react to the news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't britpicked, so after a wiki search I guessed what year John was in (schooling systems are different). It's also not beta'd, ever. So don't be shy letting me know what's wrong with it.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock figures out what's up with Mycroft.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh, jeeze, has it really been that long? Got distracted by uni, deepest apologies for keeping you waiting.

Sherlock was pleased when John finally walked through the door to the library. He had been suffering the world with a little less grace than he usually mustered today. The world didn’t deserve his grace after yesterday. John certainly did though.

He stood quickly so that John would see him where he was near the back of the library. John glanced back at Lestrade and smirked funnily at Mycroft before racing down to where Sherlock stood. It annoyed him, the weird look at Mycroft. It reminded him of Fatcroft’s purposefully obtuse avoidance of answering any of Sherlock’s inquiries about what had caused his sudden mood change.

Last night in the car Sherlock had noted Mycroft was behaving slightly out of his normal patterns but being caught off guard by their mother had knocked the thoughts from his mind, almost literally. This morning Mycroft had been behaving the same as ever, until they had gotten in the car. Then it had looked like Mycroft had swallowed something bad and he had not listened to Sherlock in the slightest as he enumerated his requirements of housing.

This afternoon when he had been picked up though... Mycroft was most certainly ‘off’.

‘Sherlock!’ John cried, still too far away from Sherlock to embrace.

Sherlock was getting used to the over affectionate ways of John Watson. The happy demeanor, casual touches and fond words had settled wrong at first. He had since proven his worth and Sherlock had begun to enjoy the presence of John, not that he would ever admit that to anyone, anyone besides the boy in question that was.

‘John.’ Sherlock replied, taking a breath of air before it was inevitably squeezed from him.

 John reached him going perhaps a touch too fast for safety’s sake. They crashed together and Sherlock was only just able to keep them upright.

‘Sherlock!’ John reiterated. He did that often, it was quite annoying; Sherlock refrained from telling him though.

‘What was that look you gave Mycroft?’ Sherlock asked in a conspiratorial tone.

‘What look?’

Sometimes Sherlock thought John was purposefully idiotic, simply to annoy him. Sherlock levelled his best tell-me glare at him. John squirmed for a moment. Sherlock could tell he was immensely enjoying having more information on this situation than Sherlock currently did.

‘Fine.’ John broke, ‘Mycroft and Greg went out today.’

Sherlock sent a why-is-that-important glare at John before turning a what-have-I-missed glare on Mycroft and Lestrade, greeting each other near the entrance. _Hand through hair, straightening of already straight jacket;_ nervous habits. _Blushes on both faces;_ embarrassed. _Smiling;_ not embarrassed, happy, pleased. _Standing just a little closer together than average_ ; comfort levels raised. _Holding hands (?!);_ romantic interest.

‘Mycroft and Greg _went out_ today.’ John said, wiggling his eyebrows.

Sherlock looked at him shocked before quickly covering it with his don’t-be-obvious scowl.

‘Obviously. The sexual attraction between them is palpable. It is disgusting. I feel sick to my stomach. I might just-’

John yelled out when Sherlock doubled over and started heaving, on the ground, hands on his stomach. Mycroft and Lestrade noticed. Sherlock could hear Lestrade running over to them. The idiot, and possibly blind if he was attracted to _Mycroft_ , reached Sherlock and attempted to put a hand on his shoulder in comfort.

Sherlock jerked away quickly. He would rather die a painful death than be touched. Though he had given exception to John and recently had initiated one or two touches between himself and Mycroft. Still he avoided Lestrade’s hand.

Mycroft had walked over somewhat more calmly. Sherlock loathed that Mycroft could not be tricked into looking an idiot as his new boyfr- Sherlock began to gag again before he could complete the thought.

‘Oh, Sherlock, please.’ Mycroft sighed.

Sherlock gave him the full force of his do-not-‘please’-me glower. Lestrade was looking confusedly between Sherlock, Mycroft and John, hoping someone would give him an answer. Mycroft was the one who spoke first.

‘It seems Sherlock has just been informed of our activities today.’

Lestrade looked down at John in question, ‘You told him Myc and I kissed?’

Sherlock decided that he most certainly was going to die from the over bearing sickness he felt. He began a full gagging-to-death routine and collapsed back in what he hoped was a realistic deceased pose.

Mycroft scoffed and Lestrade looked on in horror. It was John who announced, perhaps a little too happily for Sherlock’s liking, that the boy was gone from the world.

‘You’ve killed him!’

‘Sherlock, do get up, you are behaving ridiculously.’ Mycroft sighed.

Sherlock crossed his arms over his chest. ‘John, continue the experiments in my memory. Fatcroft, stay away from my things. Lestrade, get optic surgery to fix your eyes.’

‘My eyes are just fine thanks. Your Mycroft is quite the looker.’ Lestrade said. ‘Oh, I really don’t think the dead can choke like that.’

‘No, when you’re dead you stop breathing so you can’t choke.’ John intoned, all matter of fact.

Sherlock sat up quickly, his don’t-give-me-away glare sent to John and his don’t-be-repulsive glare given to Lestrade.

‘Think on it in this way, Sherlock: If Gregory and I continue our relationship in such a way you shall see much more of young John.’ Mycroft reasoned.

Sherlock barely heard the excited ‘Yea! Brilliant! We’d be like brothers!’ from John. His mind had stuttered to a halt and he could tell from Mycroft’s expression that Mycroft had discovered the flaw in that argument.

‘And when you have a heinous falling out? When you desire to never speak or hear of each again? What then, Fatcroft?’ Sherlock’s you-have-dug-your-own-grave glare sent a chill down Mycroft’s back.

‘Well, Sherlock, then, in that case...’ Mycroft floundered.

‘We won’t let it come to that, alright 'Locks?’ Lestrade tried. He had that stupid ‘comforting a child’ look on his face, it was deplorable.

‘"Sherlock”. And generally it is not something you allow.’

‘Alright, Sherlock, well then if it does come to that I promise it won’t affect you and John. I promise.’

‘I shall need a written guarantee, with terms and signatures, agreed on by the four of us.’ Sherlock stated.

Lestrade laughed and nodded, ‘Yea, we can do that.’

Sherlock was appeased for a moment. He noted his brother looking at Lestrade as though he were the most remarkable person there ever was. Sherlock knew Lestrade wasn’t all that though, because Sherlock knew the most exceptional person was himself... followed quite closely, almost equaled really, by John Watson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sadly there may be another break until the 22nd cause of uni obligations :L I'll try fit this in though, it's too much fun and great for a break (if I'm not reading fics hehe).


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Labeling the relationship.

It took an hour for Sherlock to be satisfied with the terms of their contract. In the end, if Mycroft and Gregory were to have a falling out, Sherlock and John were to be given at least seven hours of contact time a week, access to phones for an additional five hours and a sleep over (John’s idea) once a fortnight, though that was just the simple overview.

Mycroft had been surprised with how eagerly Sherlock had latched onto the idea of sleeping at the Watson household or having John stay with them. He realised that he shouldn’t be surprised, Sherlock had simply never had the opportunity for such an event; it was remiss to draw conclusions without testing all the variables.

‘Tyke knows how to negotiate with the best of ‘em.’ Gregory said, looking at the list once more.

‘He certainly does. There is no denying my brother when he desires something so strongly. I am quite pleased with how dearly he seems to value his new friendship.’ Mycroft smiled at his Gregory, who had handled the entire situation with complete grace.

‘That or he really thinks we’re gonna decide we hate each other real quick.’ Gregory laughed softly and the tone was music in Mycroft’s ears.

‘He has always expected the worst possible outcome when it pertains to matters involving myself. Something I am sure is partially my own fault.’

‘Hey, looks to me like you’ve done everything for that kid. Nothing about him is your ‘fault’ more like your successes. You can’t tell me he didn’t learn to argue from you.’

‘I’m certain I could convince you he did not.’ Mycroft smirked and Gregory smiled back at him.

‘Yea I reckon you probably could. Look at this list. I reckon we’ll be in violation of this lot at least once a week. We are never allowed to break up.’ Gregory ran a hand through his hair.

‘Break up?’ Mycroft’s heart stuttered. Did that mean that they were in a proper relationship? Was Gregory calling him his boyfriend? Officially?!

‘Yea, we can’t. Mycroft are you alright? You’re going a funny colour.’

Breathe! Mycroft was going to have to see a doctor about his newly developing respiratory problems. He gulped one or two quick breaths and steadied himself.

‘Breaking up would require the agreement that what we have with each other falls under the steady relationship category of association.’

‘Oh,’ Greg looked down, ‘Crap, uhh. It’s ok if you don’t want that. I just meant-’

‘Of course I want that!’ Mycroft interrupted Gregory’s ridiculous train of thought before it could grab hold in his mind. ‘I simply did not realise that was your intention also.’

‘Well, Mycroft, I did agree to go out with you again. That means I like you, and you asked so I’m pretty sure you like me too. So yea, I think we should be in a relationship. What do ya say? Wanna be my boyfriend?’ Gregory wriggled his eyebrows in the most ridiculous fashion.

Mycroft felt as though he could weep tears of joy. He held them back with steadfast determination and simply smiled. ‘Yes. That most definitely sounds agreeable.’

‘Excellent.’

Greg smiled widely and reached his hand over to snake his fingers into Mycroft’s grasp. Mycroft loved the warmth and solidarity the feeling gave him, like he was being heated from the inside out in the most pleasant way.

 _Boyfriend!_ Greg had become his boyfriend! They had a title for one another. An agreement to singularly be with one another. Mycroft was in his first true romantic entanglement. He used to believe the idea was beneath him but now, now he was overjoyed. Today really had been a rather spectacular day.

They were pulled out of their moment by the chirping of Gregory’s phone. Gregory pulled back and glanced at his screen before groaning.

‘I have to get this Myc- roft. It’s work.’

‘“Myc” is fine, though I prefer the full of it. And of course, I shall await your return.’ Mycroft smiled sweetly at his _boyfriend_.

Gregory stood to take his call outside. Mycroft admired him silently as he walked away. The name ‘Myc’ grated in his ears generally, but he was less sure he minded Gregory calling him that. He was, after all, the only one to call his _boyfriend_ ‘Gregory’, it fitted that Mycroft have a name just for him also.

Gregory came back looking haggard and yet slightly proud.

‘I have to go back in. It’s a bit of a hassle but I think it means that I impressed someone.’ Gregory certainly sounded pleased. He threw a quick look over at John and his forehead crinkled. ‘Damn, hopefully mum’s off early today and can pick him up.’

Mycroft looked towards the boys, happily chatting away, heads bowed as if planning some dastardly scheme. Knowing Mycroft’s luck they most probably were. He hoped it would not be destructive in any way to the library, purposefully or not.

‘I am able to return John to your residence, if you wouldn’t be bothered.’ Mycroft offered, yes they were boyfriends now but that did not change the fact that they had only met just last week. It was best to give Gregory the option of declining.

Gregory paused half a second before nodding slowly, ‘Yea, if it’s not a hassle, that’d be great. John knows the address. I’ll go tell him now.’

Mycroft smiled brightly. ‘Of course, no hassle at all.’

Gregory quickly ran over to John to let him know what was happening. John grinned brightly at the end and looked over to Mycroft, nodding enthusiastically. They shared a brief hug and Gregory ran back up to where Mycroft was sitting.

‘Would you mind if I gave you a goodbye kiss?’ Gregory asked, smiling shyly.

After a quick glance at John and Sherlock to make sure they weren’t looking Mycroft stood and, instead of answering, kissed Gregory lightly. When he pulled away Gregory was grinning and Mycroft was sure his ears were some hideously bright shade of red.

It seem that Sherlock had noticed them last second because John was shouting out medical instructions to the imaginary nurses around them, trying to bring the surely disturbed boy back to life. Gregory and Mycroft giggled together and Gregory pulled Mycroft in for another kiss that lasted slightly longer than the first and was a touch firmer. This caused an outcry of contagious illnesses as John fell to the ground beside his friend. Mycroft had half a mind to agree with John, his knees were weak and he was so happy his heart might burst and kill him.

‘Alright, I have to go now, really. See ya round, Myc.’ Greg gave him one last smile and ran towards the library door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's 2am, and I just finished my uni hw for the week (ish), including watching a video that made me cry for ages, so I thought I'd cheer myself up with another chapter... I could save it for another day but... no haha 
> 
> It's short and it's late so let me know if I made any mistakes.


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